SELECT  WORKS  OF  VOLTAIRE. 


VOL.   II. 


•THE  HENRIADE; 

WITH  (jO^'" 

THE  BATTLE  OF  FONTENOY 

DISSERTATIOIs^S  0^  MAN,  LAW  OF  NATURE,    »- 
DESTRUCTION  OF  LISBON, 
TEMPLE  OF  TASTE,  AND  TEMPLE  OF  FRIENDSHIP, 


FROM   THE   FEEXCII   OF 


M.    DE    VOLTAIKE; 


WITH   NOTES   FROM  ALL  THE   COMMENTATORS. 


EDITED  BY 

0.  w.  WIGHT,  a: 


NEW   YORK: 
DERBY  &  JACKSON,  119  NASSAU  STREET. 

MDCCCLIX. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1859, 

bt  o.  w.  wight, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tlie  United  States  for  tlie 
Southern  District  of  New  Yyrk. 


^  s^syS 


RKXNIE,  SHEA  &  LINDSAY, 

Stkkeotvpeks  and  ElECTROTYI'EKS, 

81,  83,  and  85  Centre-street, 

New  Yokk. 


% 


/vv  /J 


EDITOR'S   PREFACE/ 


This  volume  of  Yoltaire's  Select  Works  contains  his 
Senriade,  his  Poein  on  the  Battle  of  Fontenoy^  his 
Dissertations  in  Verse  on  3fan,  his  Poem  on  the  Law 
of  Nature^  his  Poem  on  the  Disaster  of  Lisbon^  his 
Temple  of  Taste^  and  his  Temple  of  Friendship. 

Of  the  Ilenriade^  we  are  inclined  to  say  nothing 
more  than  that  it  is  the  only  epic  poem  in  the  French 
language  that  has  not  perished.  M.  Yillemain,  the  most 
accomplished  and^udicious  of  French  critics,  calls  it 
a  "  monument  of  an  ingenious  art  and  of  a  flourish- 
ing epoch.  It  has  made  better  known  a  king  whose 
glory  was  obscured  by  the  long  apotheosis  of  Louis 
XIY.  Bossuet,  in  truth,  said  to  Louis  XIY  admira- 
ble things  in  regard  to  Henry's  goodness  of  heart,  and 
love  for  his  people  ;  but  it  was  a  secret  eulogy.  The 
Christian  pulpit,  and  the  great  writers  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  spoke  little  of  Henry.  Perhaps  they 
had  not  yet  pardoned  his  heresy.  .  .  .  The  success  of 
the  Henriade  was  great,  and  resounded  through  all 
Europe.  It  was  criticised,  vaunted,  and  reprinted 
without  cessation.  The  King  of  Prussia  wished  to  be 
its  editor,  and,  in  an  admiring  preface,  placed  it  by 


6  editor's  treface. 

the  side  of  the  ^neid.  Posterity  has  greatly  reduced 
this  praise ;  but  the  Henriade^  without  being  an  origi- 
nal creation,  preserves  a  distinct  character  and  a  sepa- 
rate place  among  the  many  attempts  at  the  epic."  ^ 

The  Battle  of  Fontenoy^  which  is  intensely  national 
in  its  spirit,  deserves  a  place  among  Yoltaire's  serious 
poems. 

The  Discours  sur  V Homme  is  rightly  judged  by 
Lord  Brougham  to  be  a  performance  of  the  highest 
merit.  "  As  the  subject  is  didactic,  his  talents,  turned 
towards  grave  reasoning  and  moral  painting,  adapted 
rather  to  satisfy  the  understanding  than  to  touch  the 
heart,  and  addressing  themselves  more  to  the  learned 
and  polite  than  to  the  bulk  of  mankind,  occupied  here 
their  appointed  province,  and  had  their  full  scope. 
Pope's  moral  essays  gave  the  first  hint  of  these  beauti- 
ful compositions ;  but  there  is  nothing  borrowed  in 
them  from  that  great  moral  poet,  and  there  is  no  inferi- 
ority in  the  execution  of  the  plan.  .  .  .  The  panegyric 
on  friendship,  in  the  fourth  Discours,  is  perhaps  un- 
equalled on  that  trite  subject."  ^ 

The  Loi  Naturelle  is  a  pleasing  poem,  and  quite  free 
from  exceptionable  passages. 

The  object  of  the  Desastre  de  Lisbonne  is  to  oppose 
those  who  deny  the  existence  of  evil.  It  is  not  with- 
out poetic  merit,  and  the  argument  is  conducted  with 
decency. 

»  Coun  de  Literature  Frani;aise,  nouvelle  edition,  t.  i,  p.  184, 
«  Lord  Brougham's  Life  of  Voltaire,  in  the  preceding  vol.,  p.  46. 


Althougli  the  Temple  du  Gout  is  half  prose,  it  may, 
without  impropriety,  be  included  in  a  volume  of  Yol- 
taire's  poetry. 

The  Temple  d'^Amitie  is  a  pleasing  poem,  and  fitly 
closes  the  volume. 

The  translations  of  the  poems  contained  in  this  vol- 
ume were  made  by  T.  Smollett,  M.  D.,  T.  Francklin, 
M.  A.,  and  others,  nearly  a  century  ago,  but,  though 
vigorous  and  spirited,  were  filled  with  errors.  Tliey 
have  been  patiently  compared  w^th  the  originals  and 
revised  by  our  friend,  Mr.  F.  W.  Ricord,  who  labored 
with  us,  in  years  gone  by,  on  M.  Cousin's  History  of 
Philosophy. 

From  the  best  French  editions  of  Yoltaire  we  have 
added  numerous  notes,  for  a  translation  of  which  we 
are  also  indebted  to  Mr.  Ricord. 

In  due  time  we  shall  add  another  volume  of  Yol- 
taire's  poems.  In  "his  shorter  productions,  his  epi- 
grams, vers  de  societe,  and  jeux  d^ esprit^''  says  Lord 
Brougham,  "  he  was  by  common  consent  admitted  to 
have  excelled  all  his  contemporaries — probably  all  the 
wits  that  ever  lived  and  wrote."  Good  translations  of 
these  are  difficult  to  make  or  procure,  and  the  rich 
field  of  French  classical  literature  invites  us,  for  the 
present,  in  other  directions. 

O.  W.  WIGHT. 

August,  1859. 


CONTENTS, 


PAGK 

The  Heneiade 45 

:  Outline  of  the  Henriade ,.     11 

i                Abridged  History  of  the  Events  upon  which  the  Plot  of  the  Hen- 
riade is  Founded 15 

Essay  on  the  Civil  "Wars  of  France 21 

Poem  upon  the  Battle  of  Fontenoy 261 

Dedication  to  the  King 249 

Preliminary  Discourse 251 

Poetical  Dissertations — 

I.  Equality  of  Conditions 277 

II.  Upon  Liberty 283 

III.  Upon  Envy 289 

IV.  Upon    Moderation  in  all  Things,  Study,  Ambition,   and 

Pleasure 295 

V.  Upon  the  Nature  of  Pleasure 301 

VI.  Upon  the  Nature  of  Man 307 

VII.  Upon  True  Virtue 315 

Poem  upon  the  Law  of  Nature 327 

Preface 323 

Poem  upon  the  Destruction  of  Lisbon 357 

The  Author's  Preface 349 

The  Temple  of  Taste 371 

The  Temple  of  Friendship 403 


OUTLINE  OF  THE  HENRIADE, 


The  subject  of  The  Henriade  is  tlie  siege  of  Paris,  com- 
menced by  Henry  of  Valois  and  Henry  the  Great,  and  con- 
cluded by  the  latter. 

The  scene  of  action  extends  no  further  than  from  Paris  to 
Ivry,  where  the  famous  battle  took  place,  which  decided  both 
the  destiny  of  France  and  that  of  the  house  of  Capet. 

The  poem  is  founded  upon  a  well-known  portion  of  history, 
the  truth  of  which  has  been  preserved  in  the  principal  events. 
The  less  important  have  been  suppressed,  or  arranged  accord- 
ing to  the  demands  of  a  poem.  In  doing  this,  an  effort  has 
been  made  to  avoid  the  fault  of  Lucan,  who  produced  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  bombastic  gazette;  and  a  warrant  for 
such  effort  has  been  found  in  the  following  lines  of  M.  Des- 
preaux : 

"  Away,  ye  stupid  poets,  who  rehearse, 
In  faultless  measure  your  didactic  verse. 

*  *  *  *  * 

To  capture  Lille,  lo  !  D61e  must  first  be  sack'd ; 
And  that  you  be  precise  as  Mezaray, 
You  must  raze,  too,  the  ramparts  of  Courtray  !"  * 

There  has  been  an  aim,  here,  to  conform,  simply,  to  the 
usual  practice  in  tragedies,  w^here  the  events  are  made  to  yield 
to  the  rules  of  the  theatre. 

Besides,  this  poem  is  not  more  historical  than  any  other. 
Camoens,  who  is  the  Virgil  of  the  Portuguese,  has  celebrated  an 
event  of  which  he  was  himself  a  witness.    Tasso  sang  a  crusade 

»  Boileau,  At^t  PoHique^  Chant  ii. 


12  THE   IIENEIADE. 

known  throughout  all  the  world,  and  omitted  neither  Peter 
the  Hermit,  nor  the  processions.  Virgil  constructed  the  story 
of  his  u^Eneid  from  the  fables  of  his  times,  which  passed  for 
the  veritable  history  of  the  descent  of  yEiieas,  in  Italy. 

Homer,  a  contemporary  of  Hesiod,  and  who,  consequently, 
lived  about  a  hundred  years  after  the  taking  of  Troy,  might, 
in  his  youth,  have  seen  some  of  the  old  men  who  had  known 
the  heroes  of  that  war.  What  should  please  still  in  Homer, 
is,  that  the  foundation  of  his  work  is  not  a  romance,  that  the 
characters  are  not  of  his  imagination,  that  he  has  painted  men 
as  they  were,  with  their  good  and  bad  qualities,  and  that  his 
book  is  a  monument  of  the  manners  of  those  remote  times. 

The  Henriade  is  composed  of  two  parts :  real  events  which 
are  recounted,  and  fictions.  These  fictions  are  all  drawn  from 
the  region  of  the  marvellous,  such  as  the  prediction  of  Henry's 
conversion,  of  the  protection  given  to  him  by  Saint  Louis,  his 
apparition,  the  fire  from  heaven  destroying  those  magical  per- 
formances which  were  then  so  common,  etc.  Others  are  purely 
allegorical :  for  example,  the  voyage  of  Discord  to  Rome,  Poli- 
tics and  Fanaticism  personified,  the  temple  of  Love,  the  Pas- 
sions and  Vices,  etc. 

If,  in  some  places,  the  same  attributes  have  been  given  to 
these  personified  passions  as  were  given  to  them  by  the  pagans, 
it  is  because  these  allegorical  attributes  are  too  well  known  to 
be  changed.  In  our  most  Christian,  works,  in  our  paintings 
and  tapestries.  Love  is  represented  with  arrows,  and  Justice 
with  a  balance,  without  imparting  to  these  representations  the 
least  tinge  of  paganism.  The  word  Amphitrite,  in  our  poetry, 
signifies  simply  the  sea,  and  not  the  wife  of  Neptune.  The 
field  of  Mars  means,  simply.  War,  etc.  If  any  one  is  of  a  dif- 
ferent opinion,  he  must  be  refered  to  that  great  master,  M.  Des- 
preaux,  who  says : 

"  'Tis,  with  a  scruple  vain,  endeavoring  to  alarm, 
'Tis  seeking  to  attract  without  a  single  charm. 
'Twill  be  a  sin,  ere  long,  to  paint  e'en  Prudence*  face, 
Give  Tliemis  scales,  upon  her  eyes  a  bandage  place, 
To  figure  War  advancing  with  a  brow  of  brass, 


OUTLINE    OF   THE   H 

To  represent  old  Time  with  scythe  and 

False  zeal,  at  length,  supreme,  will  strive  to  force, 

All  tropes  and  metaphors,  and  such  like,  from  discourse.' ' » 

Having  given  some  account  of  the  contents  of  this  book,  a 
word  or  two  should  be  said  of  the  spirit  with  which  it  was 
composed.  There  has  been  no  desire  to  flatter  or  to  slander. 
Those  who  may  here  find  recorded  the  bad  actions  of  their 
ancestors,  have  simply  to  repair  them  by  their  own  virtue. 
Those  whose  ancestors  are  here  eulogized,  are  under  no  obliga- 
tions to  the  author,  who  has  had  truth  alone  in  view ;  and  the 
only  use  that  they  should  make  of  these  praises,  is  to  merit 
similar  for  themselves. 

If,  in  this  new  edition,  omission  has  been  made  of  some  verses 
which  contained  severe  truths  concerning  popes  who  dishon- 
ored the  holy  see  by  their  crimes,  it  is  not  with  a  design  to  affront 
the  court  of  Eome  by  supposing  that  it  could  desire  to  justify 
the  conduct  of  these  wicked  pontiifs :  Frenchmen  who  con- 
demn the  bad  deeds  of  Louis  XI,  and  of  Catherine  de  Medici, 
may,  doubtless,  speak  with  horror  of  Alexander  VI.  The 
author  has  omitted  this  portion  simply  because  it  was  too  long, 
and  because  it  contained  lines  with  which  he  was  not  satisfied. 

Many  names  have  been  substituted  for  those  which  appear- 
ed in  the  first  editions,  because  they  were  deemed  more  suita- 
ble to  the  subject,  or  because  the  names  themselves  seemed  to 
be  more  sonorous.  The  aim  of  a  poet  should  always  be  to 
make  good  verses.  Omission  has  been  made  of  the  death  of 
young  Boulflers,  killed,  as  was  supposed,  by  Henry  lY,  be- 
cause, in  this  circumstance,  the  death  of  the  young  man  seem- 
ed to  render  Henry  IV  somewhat  odious,  without  rendering 
him  greater.  Duplessis-Mornay  is  made  to  go  to  England, 
to  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  because,  in  fact,  he  was  sent 
there,  and  his  negotiations  there  are  still  remembered.  This 
same  Duplessis-Mornay  is  made  use  of  in  the  rest  of  the  poem, 
because,  having  played  the  part  of  confidant  of  the  king  in  the 
first  Canto,  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  to  put  another  in  his 

>  Boileau,  A}'t  Poetlquc,  Chant  v. 


14  THE    IIKNRTADK. 

place  in  the  following  Cantos ;  even  as  it  would  be  imperti- 
nent in  a  tragedy  (in  Berenice,  for  example)  for  Titus  to  con- 
fide to  Paulin  in  the  first  act,  and  to  some  one  else  in  the  fifth. 
If  any  one  is  determined  to  put  false  interpretations  upon  these 
changes,  the  author  will  not  be  thereby  disturbed :  he  knows 
that  every  one  who  writes  is  exposed  to  the  shafts  of  malice. 

The  most  important  point  is  religion,  which  forms  in  a  great 
part  the  subject  of  the  poem,  and  which  is  its  sole  denouement. 

The  author  believes  that  he  has  explained  himself  in  many 
places  with  a  vigorous  precision  which  can  afford  no  hold  to 
censure.  Such  is,  for  example,  this  passage  concerning  the 
Trinity  : 

La  puissance,  ramonr,  avec  1' intelligence, 
Unis  et  divises,  composent  son  essence. 

And  again : 

II  reconnait  I'Eglise  ici-bas  combattue, 

L'EIise  toiijours  une,  et  partout  etendue, 

Libre,  mais  sous  un  chef,  adorant  en  tout  lieu 

Dans  le  bonheur  des  saints  la  grandeur  de  son  Dieu : 

Le  Christ,  de  nos  pe'che's  victime  renaissante, 

De  ses  e'lus  chtiris  nourriture  vivante 

Descend  sur  les  autels  a  ses  yeux  eperdus, 

Et  lui  de'couvre  un  Dieu  sous  un  pain  qui  n'est  plus. 

If  the  author  has  not  been  able  to  express  himself  every- 
where with  this  theological  exactness,  the  reasonable  reader 
will  supply  the  deficiency.  It  would  be  gross  injustice  to  ex- 
amine the  whole  work  as  a  treatise  on  theology.  This  poem 
is  replete  with  the  love  of  religion  and  of  the  laws ;  rebellion 
and  persecution  are  here  equally  held  up  for  detestation.  A 
book  written  in  such  a  spirit  must  not  be  judged  by  a  single 
word. 


/  :> 


ABRIDGED  HISTORY 

OF   THE    EVENTS    UPON   WHICH    THE    PLOT    OF    THE    HENRIADE 
IS    FOUNDED 


The  fire  of  the  civil  wars,  of  whicli  Francis  II  saw  the  first 
sparks,  was  kindled  throughout  France  during  the  minority  of 
Charles  IX.  Eeligion  was  the  cause  of  it  among  the  people, 
and  the  pretext  for  it  among  the  nobility.  The  queen  mother, 
Catherine  de  Medici,  had,  more  than  once,  hazarded  the  safety 
of  the  kingdom  to  preserve  her  authority,  arming  the  Catholic 
party  against  the  Protestant,  and  the  Guises  against  the  Bour- 
bons, in  order  to  overwhelm  the  one  by  means  of  the  other. 

France  had  then,  unfortunately,  many  too  powerful,  and,  con- 
sequently, factious  nobles ;  a  people  rendered  fanatical  and  bar- 
barous by  means  of  that  party  fury  inspired  by  false  zeal ;  and 
infant  kings,  in  whose  name  the  State  was  ravaged.  The  bat- 
tles of  Dreux,  of  Saint-Denys,  of  Jarnac,  of  Moncontour,  had 
signalized  the  unhappy  reign  of  Charles  IX.  The  greatest 
cities  had  been  taken,  retaken,  and  sacked  alternately  by  the 
opposing  parties ;  prisoners  of  war  put  to  death  by  the  most 
refined  tortures ;  churches  reduced  to  ashes  by  the  Reformers, 
temples  by  the  Catholics;  and  poisoning  and  assassination 
were  only  regarded  as  the  revenge  of  cunning  enemies. 

Saint  Bartholomew's  Day  put  the  climax  to  such  enormi- 
ties. Henry  the  Great,  then  king  of  Navarre,  and,  though  very 
young,  chief  of  the  reformed  party,  in  the  bosom  of  which  he 
had  been  born,  was  allured  to  court  with  the  most  powerful 
lords  of  this  party.  He  was  married  to  the  Princess  Margaret, 
sister  of  Charles  IX.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  rejoicings 
attending  these  nuptials,  in  the  midst  of  a  most  profound 
peace,  and  after  the  most  solemn  oaths,  that  Catherine  de 


16  THE   HENRI ADE. 

Medici  ordered  those  massacres  whose  memory  must  be  per- 
petuated (frightful  and  disgraceful  as  it  is  for  the  name  of 
France),  in  order  that  men,  always  ready  to  enter  into  reli- 
gious quarrels,  may  see  to  what  excess  party  spirit  may  finally 
conduct. 

Then  were  seen  in  a  court  which  boasted  of  its  refinement, 
a  woman,  celebrated  for  the  charms  of  her  mind,  and  a  young 
king  twenty-three  years  of  age,  ordering,  in  cold  blood,  the 
death  of  more  than  a  million  of  their  subjects.  This  same 
nation  which  now  thinks  upon  this  crime  with  a  shudder, 
committed  it  with  transport  and  with  zeal.  More  than  a  hun- 
dred thousand  men  were  assassinated  by  their  countrymen; 
and  had  it  not  been  for  the  wise  precautions  of  some  virtuous 
persons,  like  the  President  Jeannin,  the  Marquis  de  Saint- 
Herem,  etc.,  one  half  of  France  would  have  murdered  the 
other  half. 

Charles  IX  did  not  live  long  after  the  massacre  of  Saint 
Bartholomew.  His  brother,  Henry  HI,  left  the  throne  of 
Poland  to  plunge  France  into  new  misfortunes,  of  which  it 
was  relieved  by  Henry  IV,  so  justly  surnamed  The  Great  by 
posterity,  who  alone  can  give  this  title. 

Henry  HI,  on  returning  to  France,  found  there  two  domi- 
nant parties  :  one  was  that  of  the  Reformers,  revived  from  its 
own  ashes,  more  violent  than  ever,  and  having  at  its  head  the 
same  Henry  the  Great,  then  king  of  Navarre ;  the  other  was  that 
of  the  League,  a  powerful  faction,  formed,  little  by  little,  by  the 
princes  de  Guise,  encouraged  by  the  popes,  fomented  by  Spain, 
increased  every  day  by  the  artifice  of  the  monks,  consecrated, 
apparently,  by  the  zeal  of  the  Catholic  Church,  but  tending 
only  to  rebellion.  Its  chief  was  the  Duke  de  Guise,  surnamed 
Le  Balafre,  a  prince  of  brilliant  reputation,  and  who,  having 
more  great  than  good  qualities,  seemed  born  to  change  the 
face  of  the  State  in  these  troublous  times. 

Henry  III,  instead  of  crushing  the  two  parties  under  the 
weight  of  royal  authority,  fortified  them  by  his  weakness.  He 
hoped  to  make  a  great  political  stroke,  by  declaring  himself 
the  chief  of  the  League,  but  he  became  nothing  more  than  its 


ABRIDGED    HISTOKY.  17 

slave.  The  Duke  de  Guise,  intent  upon  liis  dethronement, 
compelled  him  to  make  war  upon  the  King  of  Navarre,  his 
brother-in-law  and  heir  presumptive,  whose  sole  thought  was 
the  re-establishment  of  royal  authority,  not  for  the  sake  of 
Henry  III  alone,  but  for  himself  too,  who  would,  in  time,  suc- 
ceed to  the  throne. 

The  army  Avhich  Henry  HI  sent  against  the  king,  his  brother- 
in-law,  was  defeated  at  Coutras ;  his  favorite  Joyeuse  was  there 
slain.  The  King  of  Navarre  wished  no  other  fruit  of  his  vic- 
tory than  a  reconciliation  with  his  royal  brother.  Although  a 
conqueror,  he  asked  peace,  but  the  vanquished  monarch  dared 
not  accept  it,  so  much  did  he  fear  the  Duke  de  Guise  and  the 
League.  Guise,  at  this  very  time,  had  just  scattered  an  army 
of  Germans.  This  success  of  the  Balafre  humiliated  still  more 
the  King  of  France,  who  regarded  himself  as  conquered  both 
by  the  Leaguers  and  the  Keformers. 

The  Duke  de  Guise,  inflated  by  his  glory,  and  strengthened 
by  the  weakness  of  his  sovereign,  went  to  Paris  in  spite  of  con- 
trary orders.  Then  happened  the  famous  battle  of  the  barri- 
cades ;  when  the  people  drove  off  the  guards  of  the  king,  and 
when  that  monarch  was  obliged  to  fly  from  his  capital.  Guise 
did  more :  he  obliged  the  king  to  hold  the  States-General  of 
the  kingdom  at  Blois,  and  laid  his  plans  so  well,  that  he  was 
ready  to  share  the  royal  authority,  with  the  consent  of  those 
who  represented  the  nation,  and  under  show  of  the  most  re- 
spectable formalities.  Henry  IH,  aroused  by  so  imminent  a 
danger,  caused  the  assassination,  at  the  Chateau  de  Blois,  of 
this  enemy,  as  well  as  of  his  brother,  the  cardinal,  more  violent 
and  more  ambitious  than  even  the  Duke  de  Guise. 

What  happened  to  the  Protestant  party  after  the  massacre 
of  Saint  Bartholomew,  happened  then  to  the  League :  the 
death  of  the  leaders  reanimated  the  party.  The  Leaguers 
raised  the  mask ;  Paris  closed  its  gates ;  vengeance  alone  was 
thought  of.  Henry  IH  was  regarded  as  the  assassin  of  the 
defenders  of  religion,  and  not  as  a  king  who  had  punished  his 
guilty  subjects.  Pressed  on  all  sides,  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  become  reconciled,  at  last,  with  the  King  of  Navarre.     These 


18  THE.  HENRI ADE. 

two  princes  pitched  their  camp  before  Paris ;  and  here  it  is 
that  the  Ilcnriade  commences. 

One  brother  of  the  Duke  dc  Guise  was  yet  alive ;  it  was  the 
Duke  de  Mayenne,  an  intrepid  man,  more  skilful,  however, 
than  energetic,  who  found  himself,  all  at  once,  at  the  head  of 
a  faction  aware  of  its  own  strength,  and  animated  by  vengeance 
and  fanaticism. 

Almost  the  whole  of  Europe  engaged  in  this  war.  The 
celebrated  Elizabeth,  queen  of  England,  who  esteemed  highly 
the  King  of  Navarre,  and  who  had  a  great  desire  to  see  him, 
succored  him  several  times  with  men,  money,  and  vessels  ;  and 
it  was  Duplessis-Mornay  who  always  went  to  England  for 
these  succors.  On  the  other  hand,  the  branch  of  the  house  of 
Austria  that  reigned  in  Spain,  favored  the  League,  in  the  hope 
of  "wresting  some  advantage  from  a  kingdom  rent  by  civil  war. 
The  popes  fought  the  King  of  Navarre,  not  only  by  excom- 
munications, but  by  all  the  artifices  of  diplomacy,  and  by  the 
little  assistance  of  men  and  money  that  the  court  of  Kome 
is  ever  able  to  furnish. 

In  the  mean  time,  Henry  III  was  on  the  point  of  becoming 
master  of  Paris,  when  he  was  assassinated  at  Saint-Cloud  by 
a  Dominican  friar,  who  committed  this  parricide  with  the  idea 
that  he  was  obeying  the  command  of  God,  and  that  he  would 
suffer  martyrdom  in  a  holy  cause ;  and  this  murder  was  not 
only  the  crime  of  this  fanatic  friar,  but  it  was  the  crime  of  the 
whole  party.  The  creed  of  the  Leaguers  was,  that  the  king 
should  die  if  odious  to  the  Court  of  Rome.  The  preachers 
proclaimed  it  in  all  their  sermons ;  it  was  published  in  all 
those  contemptible  books  which  inundated  France,  and  which 
are  now  preserved  in  a  few  libraries,  as  curious  monuments 
of  an  age  equally  barbarous  in  letters  and  in  manners. 

After  the  death  of  Henry  III,  the  King  of  Navarre  (Henry 
the  Great),  acknowledged  king  of  France  by  the  army,  had  to 
contend  with  all  the  forces  of  the  League,  those  of  Rome  and 
of  Spain,  and  likewise  to  conquer  his  kingdom.  He  besieged 
Paris  several  times.  Among  the  great  men  who  were  useful 
to  him  in  this  war,  and  of  whom  some  use  is  made  in  this 


ABRIDGED 


poem,  were  the  Marshals  d'Aumont  anaoB^^BfronTthe  Duke 
de  Bouillon,  etc.  Duplessis-Mornay  enjoyed  his  most  intimate 
confidence  until  he  changed  his  religion.  Mornay  served 
Henry  IV  with  his  person  in  the  armies,  with  his  pen  against 
the  excommunications  of  the  popes,  and  with  his  great  skill  as 
a  negotiator,  in  procuring  assistance  for  him  among  Protestant 
princes. 

The  principal  leader  of  the  League  was  the  Duke  de  May- 
enne  ;  next  to  him  in  point  of  reputation,  was  the  Chevalier 
d'Aumale,  a  young  prince,  easily  recognized  by  that  haughti- 
ness and  brilliant  courage  which  distinguished  the  house  of 
Guise.  They  obtained  repeated  assistance  from  Spain,  but 
no  account  is  here  made  of  any  except  the  famous  Count 
d'Egmont,  son  of  the  admiral,  w^ho  brought  thirteen  or  four- 
teen hundred  lances  to  the  Duke  de  Mayenne.  Many  battles 
were  fought,  of  which  the  most  famous,  the  most  decisive,  and 
most  glorious  for  Henry  IV,  was  the  battle  of  Ivry,  where  the 
Duke  de  Mayenne  was  conquered,  and  the  Count  d'Egmont 
was  slain. 

During  the  course  of  this  war,  the  king  became  enamored 
of  the  beautiful  Gabrielle  d'Estrees  ;  but  his  zeal  in  the  cause 
in  which  he  was  engaged  was  not  affected  by  this  passion,  as 
may  be  seen  by  a  letter  still  preserved  in  the  king's  library, 
wherein  he  says  to  his  mistress :  "  If  I  am  conquered,  you 
know  me  well  enough  to  believe  that  I  shall  not  fly ;  but  my 
last  thoughts  shall  be  of  God  and  of  you." 

Several  important  facts  are  omitted,  which,  having  no  place 
in  the  poem,  ought  not  to  be  spoken  of  here.  No  mention  is 
made  of  the  expedition  of  the  Duke  de  Parma  to  France,  which 
served  only  to  delay  the  fall  of  the  League  ;  nor  is  any  thing 
said  of  that  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  who  was  for  some  time  a 
phantom  king,  under  the  name  of  Charles  X.  It  is  sufficient 
to  say,  that,  after  so  many  misfortunes,  and  such  desolation, 
Henry  IV  became  a  Catholic,  and  that  the  Parisians,  who 
hated  his  religion,  and  revered  his  person,  then  acknowledged 
him  as  their  king. 


ESSAY 

ON  THE   CIVIL  WARS  OF  FRANCE.^ 


Henry  the  Great  was  born,  in  1553,  in  tlie  little  town  of 
Pan,  the  capital  of  Beam.  Antoine  de  Bourbon,  duke  de 
Vendome,  bis  father,  was  of  the  royal  blood  of  France,  and 
chief  of  the  branch  of  Bourbons  (formerly  synonymous  with 
bourbeux,  muddy),  and  thus  called  from  a  fief  of  that  name, 
which  fell  to  their  house  by  a  marriage  with  the  heiress  of 
Bourbon. 

The  house  of  Bourbon,  from  Louis  IX  until  Henry  IV,  had 
been  almost  always  neglected,  and  was  reduced  to  such  a  degree 
of  poverty,  that  it  has  been  asserted  that  the  famous  Prince  de 
Conde,  brother  of  Antoine  de  Navarre,  and  uncle  of  Henry 
the  Great,  had  a  yearly  income  of  only  six  hundred  livres  as 
his  patrimony. 

The  mother  of  Henry  was  Jeanne  d'Albret,  daughter  of 
Henry  d'Albret,  a  prince  without  merit,  but  a  good  man,  rather 
indolent  than  peaceable,  who  sustained  with  too  much  resigna- 
tion the  loss  of  his  kingdom,  which  was  taken  from  his  father 
by  a  Papal  bull,  supported  by  the  arms  of  Spain.  Jeanne, 
daughter  of  a  prince  so  feeble,  had  a  still  more  feeble  husband, 
to  whom  she  brought  by  marriage  the  principality  of  Beam, 
and  the  empty  title  of  King  of  Navarre. 

This  prince,  who  lived  in  a  time  of  factions  and  civil  wars, 
when  firmness  of  mind  is  so  necessary,  exhibited  nothing  but 
incertitude  and  irresolution  in  his  conduct.  He  never  knew 
to  what  party  or  to  what  religion  he  belonged.     Without  talent 


»  The  author  wrote  this  article  in  English  (17^).    The  Henriade  was 
printed  in  London, ' 


22  THE   HENRIADE. 

for  the  court,  and  without  capacity  for  a  military  employment, 
he  passed  liis  life  in  favoring  his  enemies  and  ruining  his  ser- 
vants ;  at  the  same  time  he  was  constantly  mocked  by  Cath- 
erine de  Medici,  trifled  with  and  crushed  by  the  Guises,  and 
the  dupe  of  himself.  lie  received  a  mortal  wound  at  the  siege 
of  Rouen,  where  he  fought  for  the  cause  of  his  enemies  against 
the  interests  of  his  own  house.  He  exhibited,  in  dying,  the  same 
restless  and  irresolute  spirit  that  had  agitated  him  throughout 
all  his  life. 

Jeanne  d'Albret  was  of  a  character  exactly  opposite, — full  of 
courage  and  resolution,  feared  by  the  court  of  France,  cher- 
ished by  the  Protestants,  and  esteemed  by  both  parties.  She 
had  all  the  qualities  which  make  great  statesmen,  and  was,  at 
the  same  time,  ignorant  of  all  the  petty  artifices  of  an  intriguer. 
It  is  very  remarkable  that  she  should  have  become  a  Protes- 
tant at  the  time  when  her  husband  returned  to  Catholicism, 
and  that  she  should  remain  as  steadily  attached  to  her  new 
religion  as  Antoine  was  unsteady  in  his  own.  Thus  it  was  that 
she  found  herself  at  the  head  of  one  party  while  her  husband 
was  the  sport  of  another. 

Anxious  for  the  education  of  her  son,  she  determined  to  take 
the  whole  charge  of  it  upon  herself.  Henry  received,  at  his 
birth,  all  the  excellent  qualities  of  his  mother,  and  carried  them, 
in  the  end,  to  a  still  higher  degree  of  perfection.  He  inherited 
from  his  father  nothing  but  a  certain  easiness  of  temper,  which 
in  Antoine  degenerated  into  irresolution  and  feebleness,  but 
which  in  Henry  was  benevolence  and  good  nature. 

He  was  not  brought  up,  like  a  prince,  in  that  mean  and 
effeminate  pride  which  enervates  the  body,  enfeebles  the  mind, 
and  hardens  the  heart.  His  nourishment  was  homely,  and  his 
dress  plain.  He  always  went  bare-headed.  He  was  sent  to 
school  with  young  persons  of  his  own  age ;  he  climbed  with 
them  upon  the  rocks  and  summits  of  the  neighboring  moun- 
tains, according  to  the  custom  of  the  country  and  the  times. 

While  he  was  thus  brought  up  in  the  midst  of  his  subjects, 
in  a  sort  of  equality,  without  which  it  is  easy  for  a  prince  to 
forget  that  he  is  a  man,  fortune  disclosed  in  France  a  bloody 


ESSAY.  23 

scene ;  and,  through  the  ruins  of  a  kingdom  on  the  verge  of 
destruction,  over  the  ashes  of  princes  carried  off  by  a  prema- 
ture death,  opened  him  the  way  to  a  throne  which  he  could 
restore  to  its  ancient  splendor  only  after  having  won  it  with 
the  sword. 

Henry  II,  king  of  France  and  chief  of  the  House  of  Yalois, 
was  killed  at  Paris  in  a  tourney,  which  proved  to  be,  in  Eu- 
rope, the  last  of  those  romantic  and  perilous  diversions. 

He  left  four  sons :  Francis  II,  Charles  IX,  Henry  HI,  and 
the  Duke  d'Alengon.  All  these  unworthy  descendants  of 
Francis  I  successively  ascended  the  throne,  except  the  Duke 
d'Alen^on ;  and  all  died,  fortunately,  in  the  flower  of  their  age, 
and  without  posterity. 

The  reign  of  Francis  II  was  short,  but  remarkable.  Then 
arose  those  factions,  and  then  began  those  calamities  which, 
for  thirty  years  in  succession,  ravaged  the  kingdom  of  France. 

He  married  the  celebrated  and  unhappy  Mary  Stuart,  queen 
of  Scotland,  whose  beauty  and  weakness  led  her  into  great 
errors  and  into  still  greater  misfortunes,  and,  finally,  to  a  melan- 
choly death.  She  was  absolute  mistress  of  her  young  husband, 
a  prince  eighteen  years  of  age,  without  vices  and  without  virtues, 
of  a  delicate  frame  and  of  a  feeble  mind. 

Incapable  of  governing  by  herself,  she  yielded  without  re- 
serve to  the  Duke  de  Guise,  her  mother's  brother,  who,  through 
her  instrumentality,  influenced,  the  mind  of  the  king,  and  thus 
laid  the  foundation  of  the  glory  of  his  house.  It  was  at  this 
time  that  Catherine  de  Medici,  widow  of  the  late  king,  and 
mother  of  the  reigning  one,  gave  the  first  exhibition  of  that 
ambition  which  she  had  skilfully  concealed  during  the  life  of 
Henry  II.  But  finding  that  she  could  not  control  her  son  and 
the  young  princess,  whom  he  loved  passionately,  she  deter- 
mined to  act,  for  awhile,  as  their  instrument,  and  to  make  use 
of  their  power  to  establish  her  authority.  Thus  the  Guises 
governed  the  king  and  the  two  queens.  Masters  of  the  court, 
they  became  the  masters  of  the  whole  kingdom  :  the  one  thing, 
in  France,  is  always  the  necessary  consequence  of  the  other. 

The  house  of  Bourbon  groaned  under  the  oppression  of  the 


21  TIIK   IIIiNRIADE. 

house  of  Lon-aine;  and  Antoine,  king  of  Navarre,  suffered 
quietly  many  aftronts  pregnant  with  danger.  The  Prince  de 
Conde,  his  brother,  still  more  indignantly  treated,  tried  to 
shake  off  the  yoke ;  and,  to  this  end,  associated  with  himself 
the  Admiral  de  Coligni,  chief  of  the  house  of  ChMillon.  The 
court  had  no  enemy  more  terrible.  Conde  was  more  ambi- 
tious, more  enterprising,  more  active ;  Coligni  was  more  steady, 
more  moderate  in  his  conduct,  more  capable  of  being  the  leader 
of  a  party :  as  unfortunate,  truly,  in  Avar  as  Conde,  but  capa- 
ble of  repairing  by  his  skill  what  seemed  irreparable ;  more 
dangerous  after  a  defeat  than  his  enemy  after  a  victory; 
adorned,  besides,  with  as  many  virtues  as  such  stormy  times 
and  the  spirit  of  faction  would  admit. 

The  Protestants  now  began  to  be  numerous,  and  they  soon 
perceived  their  strength. 

The  superstition,  the  impostures  of  the  monks  of  that  pe- 
riod, the  immense  power  of  Rome,  the  love  of  novelty,  the  am- 
bition of  Luther  and  of  Calvin,  the  statecraft  of  a  number  of 
princes,  served  to  increase  this  sect,  free,  indeed,  from  super- 
stition, but  tending  as  impetuously  to  anarchy  as  the  religion 
of  Rome  did  to  tyranny. 

The  Protestants  had  undergone  in  France  the  most  violent 
persecutions,  the  ordinary  effect  of  wliich  is  to  multiply  prose- 
lytes. Their  sect  grew  in  the  midst  of  scaffolds  and  tortures. 
Conde,  Coligni,  his  two  brothers,  their  partisans,  and  all  those 
who  were  oppressed  by  the  Guises,  embraced,  at  the  same  time, 
the  Protestant  religion.  They  united  with  such  concert  their 
complaints,  their  vengeance,  and  their  interests,  that  a  revolu- 
tion took  place,  at  the  same  time,  both  in  religion  and  in  the 
State. 

The  first  undertaking  was  a  conspiracy  to  arrest  the  Guises 
at  Amboise,  and  secure  the  person  of  the  king.  Although 
this  conspiracy  w^as  formed  with  boldness  and  conducted  with 
secrecy,  it  was  discovered  at  the  moment  when  about  to  be 
put  into  execution.  The  Guises  punished  the  conspirators  in 
the  most  cruel  manner,  in  order  to  intimidate  their  enemies, 
and  to  prevent  them,  in  future,  from  forming  similar  projects. 


ESSAY. 


More  than  seven  hundred  Protestants  were  executed ;  Conde 
was  made  a  prisoner,  and  accused  of  high  treason ;  he  was 
tried  and  condemned  to  death. 

During  the  course  of  his  trial,  Antoine,  king  of  Navarre, 
collected  at  Guyenne,  at  the  solicitation  of  his  wife  and  of  Co- 
ligni,  a  great  number  of  gentlemen,  Protestants  as  well  as 
Catholics,  who  were  attached  to  his  house.  He  traversed 
Gascogne  with  his  army ;  but  on  receiving  a  simple  message 
from  the  court,  while  upon  the  road,  he  dismissed  them  all, 
weeping,  and  saying :  "  I  must  obey,  but  I  will  o-btain  your 
pardon  of  the  king."  "  Go  and  ask  pardon  for  yourself,"  said 
an  old  captain  to  him,  "our  safety  is  in  the  points  of  our 
swords."  Thereupon,  the  nobles  who  followed  him  turned 
back  with  scorn  and  indignation. 

Antoine  continued  on  his  way  and  arrived  at  court.  There, 
not  sure  of  his  own  life,  he  begged  for  that  of  his  brother. 
Every  day  he  waited  upon  the  duke  and  the  Cardinal  de  Guise, 
who  received  him  seated  and  covered,  while  he  was  obliged  to 
stand  bare-headed  in  their  presence. 

All  the  preparations  were  made  for  the  death  of  Conde,  when 
the  king,  suddenly,  fell  sick  and  died.  The  circumstances 
and  the  unexpectedness  of  this  event,  together  with  the  incli- 
nation of  men  to  believe  that  the  sudden  death  of  princes  is 
not  natural,  gave  rise  to  a  report  that  Francis  II  had  been 
poisoned. 

His  death  gave  a  new  turn  to  affairs.  The  Prince  de  Conde 
was  set  at  liberty ;  his  party  began  to  breathe ;  the  Protestant 
religion  spread  more  and  more ;  the  authority  of  the  Guises 
was  diminished,  without,  however,  falling  ;  Antoine  de  Navarre 
recovered  a  shadow  of  power,  with  which  he  was  contented ; 
Mary  Stuart  was  sent  back  to  Scotland  ;  and  Catherine  de  Me- 
dici, who  then  began  to  play  the  first  part  upon  this  theatre, 
was  declared  regent  of  the  kingdom  during  the  minority  of 
Charles  IX,  her  second  son. 

She  found  herself  lost  in  a  labyrinth  of  inextricable  difficulties, 
and  embarrassed  between  two  religions,  and  between  factions 
hostile  to  one  another,  and  contending  for  sovereign  power. 

2 


2b  THE   HENRIADE. 

This  princess  resolved  to  destroy  them  by  means  of  their 
own  weapons,  if  it  was  possible.  She  nourished  the  liatred  of 
the  Condes  against  the  Guises ;  she  sowed  the  seeds  of  civil 
war;  indiflferent  and  impartial  between  Geneva  and  Rome, 
jealous  alone  of  her  own  authority. 

The  Guises,  who  were  zealous  Catholics  because  Condo  and 
Coligni  were  Protestants,  were,  for  a  long  time,  at  the  head  of 
the  troops.  Several  battles  were  fought,  and  the  kingdom 
was  ravaged,  at  the  same  time,  by  three  or  four  armies. 

The  Constable  Anne  de  Montmorency  was  killed  at  the  bat- 
tle of  Saint-Denys,  in  the  seventy-fourth  year  of  his  age. 
Francis,  duke  de  Guise,  was  assassinated  by  Poltrot,  at  the 
siege  of  Orleans.  Henry  III,  then  duke  d'Anjou,  a  great 
prince  in  his  youth,  although  a  king  of  little  merit  in  more 
advanced  life,  gained  the  battle  of  Jarnac  against  Conde,  and 
that  of  Moncontour  against  Coligni. 

The  conduct  of  Conde,  and  his  melancholy  death  at  the 
battle  of  Jarnac,  are  too  remarkable  to  be  mentioned  without 
some  details.  He  had  been  Avounded  in  the  arm  two  days 
before.  When  on  the  point  of  giving  battle  to  his  enemy,  he 
had  the  misfortune  to  receive  a  kick  from  an  unrul}^  horse, 
upon  which  one  of  his  officers  was  mounted.  The  prince, 
without  showing  any  sign  of  pain,  said  to  those  who  were 
about  him  :  "  Gentlemen,  learn  from  this  accident  that  an  un- 
ruly horse  is  more  dangerous  than  useful  upon  the  field  of 
battle.  Come  on,"  continued  he,  "  the  Prince  de  Conde  with 
a  broken  leg  and  a  crippled  arm,  fears  not  to  give  battle  when 
you  follow  him."  Success  did  not  correspond  with  his  cour- 
age :  he  lost  the  battle ;  all  his  army  was  put  to  rout.  His 
horse  having  been  killed  under  him,  he  supported  himself  as 
well  as  he  could  against  a  tree,  and,  although  fainting  by  rea- 
son of  the  pain  caused  by  his  wounds,  turned  his  face  intrepidly 
towards  the  enemy.  Montesquiou,  captain  of  the  guards  of  the 
Duke  d'Anjou,  passing  by  while  the  unfortunate  prince  was  in 
this  condition,  asked  who  he  was.  Being  told  that  it  Avas  the 
Prince  de  Conde,  he  slew  him  in  cold  blood. 

After  the  death  of  Conde,  Coligni  had  upon  his  shoulders 


ESSAY.  27 

the  whole  burden  of  the  party.  Jeanne  d'Albret,  now  a 
widow,  confided  her  son  to  his  care.  Young  Henry,  though 
only  fourteen  years  of  age,  w^ent  with  him  to  the  army,  and 
shared  the  fatigues  of  war.  Toil  and  adversity  were  his  guides 
and  masters.  His  mother  and  the  admiral  had  nothing  else  in 
view  than  to  render  their  religion  independent,  in  France,  of 
the  Church  of  Rome,  and  to  maintain  their  own  authority 
against  the  power  of  Catherine  de  Medici. 

Catherine  was  already  free  from  several  of  her  rivals.  Fran- 
cis, duke  de  Guise,  who  was  the  most  dangerous  and  the  most 
hurtful  of  all,  although  of  the  same  party,  had  been  assassinated 
before  Orleans.  Henry  de  Guise,  his  son,  who  afterwards 
played  so  great  a  part  in  the  world,  was  then  very  young. 

The  Prince  de  Conde  was  dead.  Charles  IX,  son  of  Cath- 
erine, had  taken  the  bent  which  she  desired,  being  blindly 
submissive  to  her  wishes.  The  Duke  d'Anjou,  afterwards 
Henry  IH,  was  absolutely  in  her  interest ;  she  feared  no  other 
enemies,  save  Jeanne  d'Albret,  Coligni,  and  the  Protestants. 
She  believed  that  a  single  blow  could  destroy  them  all,  and 
render  her  power  immovable. 

She  imparted  her  design  to  the  king,  and  even  to  the 
Duke  d'Anjou.  All  was  concerted  ;  and  the  snares  having 
been  prepared,  an  advantageous  peace  was  proposed  to  the 
Protestants.  Coligni,  tired  of  civil  war,  accepted  it  with  eager- 
ness. Charles,  in  order  to  leave  no  subject  of  suspicion,  gave 
his  sister  in  marriage  to  young  Henry  of  Navarre.  Jeanne 
d'Albret,  deceived  by  such  seductive  appearances,  came  to 
court  with  her  son  and  Coligni,  and  all  the  Protestant  leaders. 
The  marriage  was  celebrated  with  splendor  :  all  the  civilities, 
all  the  professions  of  friendship,  all  the  oaths,  so  sacred  among 
men,  were  lavished  by  Catherine  and  the  king.  The  rest  of 
the  court  were  occupied  with  feasts,  games,  and  masquerades. 
Finally,  on  Saint  Bartholomew's  Day,  in  the  month  of  August, 
1572,  the  signal  was  given  at  midnight.  All  the  houses  of 
the  Protestants  were  forced  open  at  the  same  moment.  The 
Admiral  de  Coligni,  alarmed  by  the  tumult,  sprang  from  his 
bed.     A  troop  of  assassins  entered  his  chamber ;  a  certain 


28  THE  nENRIADE. 

Lorrainian  named  Bcsme,  who  had  been  brought  up  as  ser- 
vant in  the  house  of  Guise,  was  at  their  head  ;  he  plunged  his 
sword  into  the  breast  of  the  admiral,  and  gave  him  a  blow 
upon  the  face. 

Young  Henry,  duke  de  Guise,  who  formed  afterwards  the 
Catholic  League,  and  who  was  subsequently  assassinated  at 
Blois,  was  at  Coligni's  door,  awaiting  the  assassination,  and 
cried  out :  "  Besme,  is  it  done  ?"  Immediately  afterwards,  the 
assassins  cast  the  body  of  the  admiral  out  of  the  window. 
Coligni  fell  and  expired  at  the  feet  of  Guise,  who  stepped 
upon  his  body  ;  not  that  he  was  intoxicated  with  that  Catholic 
zeal  for  persecution,  which,  at  this  time,  had  infected  half  of 
France,  but  he  was  led  to  this  act  by  the  spirit  of  vengeance, 
which,  although  not  in  general  so  cruel  as  the  false  zeal  for 
religion,  leads  often  to  still  greater  baseness. 

In  the  mean  time,  all  the  friends  of  Coligni  were  attacked 
in  Paris ;  men  and  children  were  massacred  without  distinc- 
tion ;  all  the  streets  were  filled  with  dead  bodies.  Priests,  with 
the  crucifix  in  one  hand  and  the  sword  in  the  other,  headed 
the  murderers,  and  encouraged  them,  in  the  name  of  God,  to 
spare  neither  relatives  nor  friends. 

The  Marshal  de  Tavannes,  an  ignorant  and  superstitious 
soldier,  inspired  equally  by  religious  fury  and  party  rage,  rode 
about  Paris  on  horseback,  crying  to  the  soldiers,  "  Blood  ! 
blood  ! — blood-letting  is  as  salutary  in  the  month  of  August  as 
in  the  month  of  May." 

The  palace  of  the  king  was  one  of  the  principal  scenes  of 
the  carnage,  for  the  Prince  of  Navarre  lodged  at  the  Louvre, 
and  all  his  servants  were  Protestants.  Some  were  slain  in 
their  beds  with  their  wives ;  others,  flying  away  naked,  were 
pursued  by  the  soldiers  through  all  the  apartments  of  the  pal- 
ace, and  even  into  the  ante-chamber  of  the  king.  The  young 
wife  of  Henry  of  Navarre,  aroused  by  the  frightful  tumult,  and 
fearing  for  her  husband  and  for  herself,  sprang  from  her  bed, 
with  the  intention  of  casting  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  king, 
her  brother.  Scarcely  had  she  opened  the  door  of  her  cham- 
ber, when  some  of  her  Protestant  servants  ran  into  it  for  safety. 


ESSAY.  29 

The  soldiers  entered  after  them,  and  pursued  them  in  presence 
of  the  princess.  One  of  them,  who  had  concealed  himself 
under  the  bed,  was  killed  there ;  two  others  were  slain  with 
halberds  at  her  feet ;  and  the  princess  herself  was  covered  with 
blood. 

There  was  a  young  gentleman,  very  highly  esteemed  by  the 
king  on  account  of  his  noble  air,  his  politeness,  and  a  certain 
happy  faculty  which  he  had  for  conversation ;  this  was  the 
Count  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  great-grandfather  of  the  Marquis 
de  Montendre,  who  went  to  England  during  a  persecution  less 
cruel,  but  equally  unjust.  La  Rochefoucauld  had  passed  the 
evening  with  the  king  in  a  familiar  manner,  charming  him  by 
the  flights  of  his  imagination.  The  king  felt  some  remorse, 
and  was  touched  with  a  sort  of  compassion  for  him.  Two  or 
three  times,  he  told  him  not  to  go  home,  but  to  sleep  in  the 
royal  chamber.  La  Rochefoucauld  replied  that  he  must  return 
to  his  wife.  The  king,  not  pressing  him  any  more,  said,  "  Let 
him  go ;  I  see  that  God  has  resolved  upon  his  death."  This 
young  man  was  murdered  two  hours  afterwards. 

There  were  very  few  who  escaped  this  general  massacre. 
Among  these,  the  deliverance  of  young  La  Force  is  an  illus- 
trious example  of  what  men  call  destiny.  He  was  a  child  ten 
years  old.  His  father,  his  elder  brother,  and  himself  were 
arrested  at  the  same  time  by  the  soldiers  of  the  Duke  d'Anjou. 
These  murderers  fell  upon  all  three  tumultuously,  striking 
them  at  random.  The  father  and  children,  covered  with  blood, 
fell  backwards  one  upon  another.  The  youngest,  who  had  not 
received  a  single  blow,  counterfeited  death,  and  on  the  follow- 
ing day  was  delivered  from  all  danger.  A  life  so  miraculously 
preserved,  lasted  eighty-five  years.  This  was  the  celebrated 
Marshal  de  la  Force,  uncle  of  the  Duchess  de  la  Force,  who  is 
now  in  England. 

Many  of  these  unfortunate  victims  fled  to  the  river-side. 
Some  attempted,  by  swimming,  to  cross  over  to  the  faubourg 
St.  Germain.  The  king  perceived  them  from  his  window, 
which  opened  upon  the  river ;  and,  what  is  almost  incredible, 
although  too   true,  he  fired   upon   them  with  his  carabine. 


30  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Catherine  de  Medici,  undisturbed,  and  with  a  tranquil  air,  in 
the  midst  of  this  butchery,  looked  on  from  the  top  of  a  bal- 
cony which  commanded  the  city,  encouraged  the  assassins,  and 
laughed  to  hear  the  sighs  of  the  dying  and  the  cries  of  those 
"who  were  massacred.  Her  maids  of  honor  went  into  the 
streets,  with  a  brazen  curiosity  worthy  of  the  abominations  of 
that  period ;  they  examined  the  naked  body  of  a  gentleman 
named  Soubise,  who  had  been  suspected  of  impotency,  and 
who  had  just  been  assassinated  under  the  windows  of  the 
queen. 

The  court,  which  still  reeked  with  the  blood  of  the  nation, 
tried,  some  days  after,  to  cover  so  enormous  a  crime  by  the 
formalities  of  law.  To  justify  this  massacre,  they  calumniously 
imputed  to  the  admiral  a  conspiracy,  in  which  no  one  believed. 
Tlie  parliament  was  ordered  to  proceed  against  the  memory 
of  Coligni.  His  body  was  suspended  by  the  feet,  with  an  iron 
chain,  to  the  gibbet  of  Montfaucon.  The  king  himself  had  the 
cruelty  to  go  and  enjoy  this  horrible  spectacle.  One  of  the 
courtiers  advising  him  to  retire,  because  the  body  smelt  bad, 
the  king  replied,  "  The  body  of  a  dead  enemy  always  smells 
good." 

It  is  impossible  to  ascertain  whether  or  not  the  head  of  the 
admiral  was  sent  to  Rome.  It  is,  however,  very  certain  that 
there  is  in  the  Vatican  a  picture  representing  the  Massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew,  with  these  words  inscribed  upon  it:  "The 
pope  approves  of  the  death  of  Coligni." 

Young  Henry  of  Navarre  was  spared  rather  through  policy 
than  through  compassion  on  the  part  of  Catherine,  who  kept 
him  a  prisoner  until  the  death  of  the  king,  as  security  for  the 
submission  of  the  Protestants,  who  were  ready  to  revolt. 

Jeanne  d'Albrethad  died  suddenly  three  or  four  days  before. 
Although  her  death  might  have  been  natural,  it  is  not  alto- 
gether ridiculous  to  believe  that  she  was  poisoned. 

The  massacre  was  not  confined  to  the  city  of  Paris.  The 
same  orders  of  the  court  were  sent  to  all  the  governors  of  the 
provinces  of  France.  There  were  but  two  or  three  of  these 
goveraors  who  refused  to  obey  the  orders  of  the  king.     One 


ESSAY.  31 

of  them,  named  Montmorin,  governor  of  Auvergne,  wrote  to 
His  Majesty  the  following  letter,  which  deserves  to  be  trans- 
mitted to  posterity  : 

"  Sire, — I  have  received  an  order  under  the  seal  of  your 
Majesty,  to  slay  all  the  Protestants  who  are  in  my  province. 
I  have  too  much  respect  for  your  Majesty,  not  to  believe  that 
these  letters  are  forged  ;  and  if  (which  God  forbid  !)  the  order 
has  really  emanated  from  yourself,  I  have  still  too  much  respect 
for  you  to  obey  it." 

These  massacres  carried  rage  and  fear  to  the  hearts  of  the 
Protestants.  Their  irreconcilable  hatred  seemed  to  acquire 
new  strength  ;  the  spirit  of  revenge  rendered  them  more  and 
more  terrible. 

Not  long  after,  the  king  was  attacked  by  a  strange  disease, 
which  carried  him  off  at  the  end  of  two  years.  His  blood 
oozed  from  every  part  of  his  body,  even  through  the  pores  of 
his  skin.  All  the  art  and  skill  of  physicians  were  directed, 
without  avail,  against  this  incomprehensible  malady,  which 
was  regarded  as  an  effect  of  Divine  vengeance. 

During  the  sickness  of  Charles,  his  brother,  the  Duke 
d'Anjou,  was  elected  king  of  Poland.  He  owed  his  elevation 
to  the  reputation  which  he  acquired  while  a  general,  but  which 
he  lost  on  ascending  the  throne. 

As  soon  as  he  heard  of  the  death  of  Charles,  he  hastened 
to  France,  to  take  possession  of  the  perilous  heritage  of  a  king- 
dom rent  by  factions  fatal  to  its  sovereigns,  and  reeking  with 
the  blood  of  its  inhabitants.  On  arriving,  he  found  nothing 
but  divisions  and  troubles,  which  continually  augmented. 

Henry,  now  king  of  Navarre,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
Protestants,  and  gave  new  life  to  this  party.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  young  Duke  de  Guise  began  to  attract  the  attention 
of  every  one  by  his  great  and  dangerous  qualities.  He  had  a 
mind  even  more  enterprising  than  his  father ;  he  seemed, 
moreover,  to  have  a  happy  opportunity  to  reach  the  summit 
of  greatness  to  which  his  father  had  opened  for  him  a  path- 
way. 


32  THE  HENMADE. 

The  Duke  d'Anjou,  now  Henry  III,  was  regarded  as  incapa- 
ble of  having  children,  on  account  of  infirmities  which  resulted 
from  the  debaucheries  of  liis  youth.  The  Duke  d'Alen^on, 
who  had  taken  the  name  of  the  Duke  d'Anjou,  died  in  1584, 
and  Henry  of  Navarre  was  the  legitimate  heir  to  the  crown. 
Guise  tried  to  secure  it  for  himself,  at  least  after  the  death  of 
Henry  HI,  and  to  take  it  from  the  house  of  the  Capets,  as  the 
Capets  had  usurped  it  over  the  house  of  Charlemagne,  and  as 
the  father  of  Charlemagne  had  torn  it  from  his  legitimate 
sovereign. 

Never  did  so  bold  a  project  appear  to  have  been  so  well 
concerted.  Henry  of  Navarre,  and  all  the  Iwuse  of  Bourbon, 
were  Protestants.  Guise  began  to  conciliate  the  favor  of  the 
nation,  by  affecting  a  great  zeal  for  the  Catholic  religion.  His 
liberality  gained  the  people.  The  clergy  devoted  themselves 
to  his  service.  He  had  friends  in  the  parliament,  spies  in  the 
court,  and  servants  throughout  the  kingdom.  His  first  politi- 
cal scheme  was  an  association  under  the  name  of  The  Holy 
League^  against  the  Protestants,  for  the  security  of  the  Catholic 
religion. 

Half  the  kingdom  entered  eagerly  into  this  new  con- 
federation. Pope  Sixtus  V  gave  his  blessing  to  the  League, 
and  protected  it  as  a  new  army  of  the  Church.  Philip  II, 
king  of  Spain,  according  to  the  policy  of  sovereigns  who 
always  concur  in  the  ruin  of  their  neighbors,  encouraged  the 
League  with  all  his  might,  hoping  by  this  means  to  destroy 
France,  and  to  enrich  himself  with  the  spoils. 

Thus,  Henry  III,  always  an  enemy  of  the  Protestants, 
was  betrayed  by  the  Catholics,  besieged  by  secret  and  open 
enemies,  and  inferior  in  authority  to  a  subject  who,  while 
ostensibly  submissive,  was  in  reality  more  king  than  him- 
self. 

His  sole  means  of  relieving  himself  from  this  embarrass- 
ment was,  perhaps,  to  unite  with  Henry  of  Navarre,  whose 
fidelity,  courage,  and  indefatigable  spirit  were  the  only  barrier 
that  could  be  opposed  to  the  ambition  of  Guise,  and  that  could 
retain  all  the  Protestants  in  the  party  of  the  king. 


ESSAY.  33 

The  king,  governed  by  Guise,  whom  he  distrusted,  but  whom 
he  dared  not  to  offend,  intimidated  by  the  pope,  betrayed  by 
his  council  and  by  his  bad  policy,  took  a  totally  opposite  course : 
he  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  League.  In  the  hope  of  be- 
coming the  master,  he  joined  with  Guise,  his  rebellious  subject, 
against  his  successor  and  brother-in-law,  whom  nature  and 
sound  policy  marked  out  as  his  ally. 

Henry  of  Navarre  was,  at  this  time,  in  command  of  a  small 
army  in  Gascony,  while  a  large  body  of  troops  was  hastening 
to  his  succor  on  the  part  of  the  Protestant  princes  of  Germany  : 
he  was  already  upon  the  frontiers  of  Lorraine. 

The  king  imagined  that  he  would,  at  the  same  time,  reduce 
Henry  and  get  rid  of  Guise.  With  this  design  he  sent  the 
Lorrainian  with  a  very  small  and  feeble  army  against  the  Ger- 
mans, by  whom  he  was  near  being  put  to  rout. 

At  the  same  time,  he  sent  against  Henry  his  favorite  Joy- 
euse,  with  the  flower  of  the  French  nobility,  and  with  the  most 
powerful  army  that  had  been  seen  since  the  days  of  Francis  I. 
He  failed  in  all  these  designs :  Henry  of  Navarre  destroyed 
this  terrible  army  completely  at  Coutras,  and  Guise  gained 
the  victory  over  the  Germans. 

Henry  made  use  of  this  victory  only  to  offer  a  sure  peace  to 
the  kingdom,  and  his  aid  to  the  king.  But,  although  a  con- 
queror, he  saw  himself  rejected,  the  king  fearing  him  less  than 
he  did  his  own  subjects. 

Guise  returned  victorious  to  Paris,  where  he  was  received  as 
the  saviour  of  the  nation.  His  party  became  more  audacious, 
and  the  king  more  despised ;  so  that  Guise  seemed  rather  to 
have  triumphed  over  the  king  than  over  the  Germans. 

The  king,  pushed  upon  all  sides,  awoke,  but  too  late,  from 
his  profound  lethargy  :  he  tried  to  break  up  the  League ;  he 
sought  to  secure  some  of  the  most  seditious  of  the  citizens ; 
he  went  so  far  as  to  forbid  Guise  to  enter  Paris ;  but  he  dis- 
covered, at  his  own  expense,  what  it  is  to  command  without 
power.  Guise,  in  spite  of  his  orders,  came  to  Paris ;  the  citi- 
zens took  up  arms ;  the  king's  guards  were  arrested,  and  he 
himself  imprisoned  in  his  own  palace. 

2« 


34  THE  UENEIADE. 

It  is  rare  that  men  are  good  enough  or  bad  enough.  If 
Guise  had  undertaken,  at  this  time,  to  deprive  the  king  of  his 
liberty  or  his  life,  he  would  have  been  the  master  of  France ; 
but  he  let  him  escape,  after  having  beset  him,  and  thus  did  too 
much  or  too  little. 

Henry  III  fled  to  Blois,  where  he  convoked  the  States-Gen- 
eral of  the  kingdom.  They  resembled  the  Parliament  of  Great 
Britain  as  to  their  convocation  ;  but  their  operations  were  dif- 
ferent. As  they  were  rarely  assembled,  they  had  no  rules  by 
which  to  conduct  their  business.  It  was  generally  an  assem- 
bly of  people  incapable,  for  want  of  experience,  of  adopting 
proper  measures,  and  hence  there  was  mere  confusion. 

Guise,  after  driving  his  sovereign  from  his  capital,  dared  to 
brave  him  at  Blois,  in  the  presence  of  a  body  which  represented 
the  nation.  Henry  and  himself  became  reconciled  in  a  solemn 
manner ;  they  went  together  to  the  same  altar ;  they  there 
communed  together.  The  one  promised  by  an  oath  to  forget 
all  past  injuries,  the  other  to  be  obedient  and  faithful  for  the 
future ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  the  king  plotted  the  death  of 
Guise,  and  Guise  the  dethronement  of  the  king. 

Guise  had  been  sufficiently  warned  to  distrust  Henry,  but 
he  despised  him  too  much  to  believe  him  capable  of  undertak- 
ing an  assassination.  He  Avas  the  dupe  of  his  own  security; 
the  king  had  resolved  to  be  revenged  both  of  him  and  of  his 
brother.  Cardinal  de  Guise,  the  partner  of  his  ambitious  de- 
signs, and  the  boldest  promoter  of  the  League.  The  king  him- 
self provided  poniards,  which  he  distributed  among  some  Gas- 
cons who  offered  to  be  the  ministers  of  his  vengeance.  They 
slew  Guise  in  the  cabinet  of  the  king ;  but  these  same  men 
who  had  slain  the  duke  would  not  stain  their  hands  with  the 
blood  of  his  brother,  because  he  was  a  priest  and  a  cardinal ; 
as  if  the  life  of  a  man  who  wore  a  long  robe  and  a  band  was 
more  sacred  than  that  of  a  man  who  wore  a  short  coat  and  a 
sword  ! 

The  king  found  four  men  who,  according  to  the  Jesuit  Maim- 
bourg,  being  less  scrupulous  than  the  Gascons,  slew  the  cardi- 
nal for  a  hundred  crowns  each.     It  was  under  the  apartment 


ESSAY.  35 

of  Catherine  de  Medici  that  the  two  brothers  were  slain ;  but 
she  was  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  design  of  her  son,  having  no 
longer  the  confidence  of  any  party,  and  being  abandoned  even 
by  the  king. 

Had  this  act  of  vengeance  been  clothed  with  the  formali- 
ties of  the  law,  which  are  the  natural  instruments  of  the  jus- 
tice of  kings,  or  the  natural  veil  of  their  iniquity,  the  League 
would  have  been  alarmed  by  it;  but,  wanting  this  solemn 
form,  this  action  was  regarded  as  a  frightful  assassination,  and 
served  only  to  irritate  the  party.  The  blood  of  the  Guises 
fortified  the  League,  as  the  death  of  Coligni  had  fortified  the 
Protestants.  Several  cities  of  France  revolted  openly  against 
the  king. 

He  came  first  to  Paris,  but  found  all  its  gates  shut,  and  all 
its  inhabitants  under  arms. 

The  famous  Duke  de  Mayenne,  younger  brother  of  the  late 
Duke  de  Guise,  was  now  in  Paris.  He  had  been  eclipsed  by 
the  glory  of  Guise  during  his  life  ;  but,  after  the  death  of  Guise, 
the  king  found  the  Duke  de  Mayenne  as  dangerous  an  enemy 
as  his  brother :  the  former  had  all  the  great  qualities  of  the 
latter,  without  the  lustre  of  his  name. 

The  party  of  the  Lorraines  was  very  numerous  in  Paris. 
The  great  name  of  Guise,  their  magnificence,  their  liberality, 
their  apparent  zeal  for  the  Catholic  religion,  had  made  them 
the  favorites  of  the  city.  Priests,  citizens,  women,  magistrates, 
united  earnestly  with  Mayenne  in  seeking  a  vengeance  which 
seemed  to  them  legitimate. 

The  widow  of  the  duke  brought  before  parliament  a  suit 
against  the  murderers  of  her  husband.  The  process  began 
according  to  the  usual  course  of  justice  :  two  councillors  were 
named  to  inquire  into  the  circumstances  of  the  crime ;  but 
the  parliament  went  no  further,  the  leaders  being  singularly 
attached  to  the  interests  of  the  king. 

The  Sorbonne  did  not  follow  this  example  of  moderation ; 
seventy  doctors  published  an  opinion,  in  which  they  declared 
that  Henry  of  Valois  had  forfeited  his  right  to  the  crown,  and 
that  his  subjects  were  no  longer  bound  by  their  oath  of  fidelity 


36 

But  the  'royal  authority  had  no  enemies  more  dangerous 
than  those  citizens  of  Paris  named  the  Sixteen,  not  on  account 
of  their  number,  as  they  were  forty,  but  on  account  of  the 
sixteen  quarters  of  Paris  into  which  they  divided  the  govern- 
ment. The  most  considerable  of  all  these  citizens  was  a  cer- 
tain Le  Clerc,  who  had  usurped  the  great  name  of  Bussy.  He 
was  a  bold  citizen  and  a  bad  soldier,  like  all  his  compan- 
ions. These  Sixteen  had  acquired  an  absolute  authority,  and, 
in  the  end,  became  as  insupportable  to  Mayenne  as  they  had 
been  terrible  to  the  king. 

Besides,  the  priests,  who  have  always  been  the  trumpets  of 
all  revolutions,  thundered  from  their  pulpits,  and  announced,  in 
the  name  of  God,  that  he  who  killed  the  tyrant  would  certainly 
enter  paradise.  The  sacred  and  fearful  names  of  Jehu  and 
Judith,  and  all  the  assassinations  consecrated  by  Holy  Writ, 
were  sounded  upon  the  ears  of  the  nation.  In  this  frightful 
extremity,  the  king  was  at  last  forced  to  implore  the  aid  of  that 
same  Henry  of  Navarre  whom  he  had  formerly  spurned.  This 
prince  was  more  sensible  to  the  glory  of  protecting  his  bro- 
ther-in-law, and  his  king,  than  to  the  victory  which  he  had 
achieved  over  him. 

He  led  his  army  to  the  king ;  but  before  his  troops  had 
arrived,  visited  him,  accompanied  by  a  single  page.  The  king 
was  astonished  by  this  trait  of  generosity,  of  which  he  himself 
would  have  been  incapable.  Both  then  marched  against  Paris, 
at  the  head  of  a  powerful  army.  The  city  was  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  defend  itself.  The  League  was  on  the  verge  of  total 
ruin,  when  a  young  monk  of  the  order  of  Saint  Dominick 
changed  the  whole  face  of  things. 

His  name  was  Jacques  Clement ;  he  was  born  in  a  village 
of  Burgundy,  called  Sorbonnc,  and  now  twenty-four  years  of 
age.  His  stern  piety,  his  dark  and  melancholy  spirit,  per- 
mitted him  to  be  led  into  fanaticism  by  the  ceaseless  clamors 
of  the  priests.  He  took  it  upon  himself  to  be  the  libera- 
tor and  the  martyr  of  the  Holy  League.  He  communi- 
cated his  project  to  his  friends  and  his  superiors ;  all  encour- 
aged him,  and  canonized  him  in  advance.    Clement  prepared 


ESSAY. 

himself  for  the  work  of  a  parricide  by  fas'U7  Aiid  COiiTinual 
prayers  during  entire  nights.  He  confessed,  received  the 
sacrament,  then  bought  a  good  knife.  He  went  to  St.  Cloud, 
to  the  apartments  of  the  king,  and  asked  to  be  presented  to 
this  prince,  under  the  pretext  of  revealing  a  secret  which  it 
was  very  important  that  he  should  know  immediately.  Hav- 
ing been  conducted  to  his  majesty,  he  bowed  modestly,  and 
gave  to  him  a  letter,  which  he  said  had  been  written  by  Achille 
de  Harlay,  first  president.  While  the  king  was  reading,  the 
monk  struck  him  in  the  belly,  and  left  the  knife  in  the 
wound ;  then,  with  a  serene  look,  and  with  his  hands  folded 
upon  his  breast,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  peacefully 
awaited  the  consequences  of  his  horrible  deed.  The  king 
arose,  tore  the  knife  from  the  wound,  and  struck  the  murderer 
with  it  upon  the  forehead.  Several  of  the  courtiers  hastened 
to  his  side  on  hearing  the  noise.  Their  duty  was  simply  to 
arrest  the  monk,  in  order  to  interrogate  him  and  discover  his 
accomplices  ;  but  they  slew  him  upon  the  spot,  with  a  precipi- 
tation which  caused  them  to  be  suspected  of  having  known 
his  design.  Henry  of  Navarre,  was  now  king  of  France  by 
the  right  of  birth,  recognized  by  one  portion  of  the  army,  and 
abandoned  by  the  other. 

The  Duke  d'Epernon,  and  some  others,  quitted  the  army, 
alleging  that  they  were  too  good  Catholics  to  take  up  arms 
in  favor  of  a  king  Avho  did  not  go  to  mass.  They  hoped  se- 
cretly that  the  overturning  of  the  kingdom,  the  object  of  their 
desires,  would  give  them  an  opportunity  to  render  themselves 
sovereigns  in  their  country. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  crime  of  Clement  was  approved  at 
Rome,  and  this  monk  was  adored  in  Paris.  The  Holy  League, 
in  order  to  show  the  world  that  it  was  not  the  house  of  Bour- 
bon but  the  heretics  they  hated,  recognized  as  their  king  the 
Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  an  old  priest,  and  uncle  of  Henry  IV. 

The  Duke  de  Mayenne  was  too  wise  to  usurp  the  title  of 
kmg ;  nevertheless,  he  possessed  all  the  royal  authority,  while 
the  unfortunate  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  called  king  by  the 
League,  was  kept  a  prisoner  by  Henry  IV  during  the  remain- 


38  THE    HENRIADK. 

der  of  his  life,  which  lasted  two  more  years.  The  League, 
supported  more  than  ever  by  the  pope,  assisted  by  the  Span- 
iards, and  strong  of  itself,  had  reached  the  height  of  its  gran- 
deur, and  was  causing  Henry  IV  to  feel  the  hatred  inspired  by 
false  zeal,  and  the  contempt  produced  by  success. 

Henry  had  but  few  friends,  few  important  places,  no  money, 
and  a  small  army;  but  his  courage,  his  activity,  his  policy 
made  up  for  all  that  he  lacked.  He  gained  many  battles, 
and  among  others  that  of  Ivry,  over  the  Duke  de  Mayenne, 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  ever  fought.  The  two  generals, 
on  this  occasion,  showed  all  their  skill,  and  the  soldiers  all  their 
courage.  Few  faults  were  committed  on  either  side.  Henry 
was,  finally,  indebted  for  the  victory  to  the  superiority  of  his 
knowledge  and  his  valor ;  but  he  confessed  that  Mayenne  had 
sustained  himself  like  a  great  general :  "  He  erred,"  said  he, 
"  only  in  the  cause  which  he  supported." 

He  showed  himself,  after  the  victory,  as  moderate  as  he  had 
been  terrible  in.  the  combat.  Knowing  that  power  is  often 
diminished  by  too  great  a  use  of  it,  and  augmented  by  employ- 
ing it  with  prudence,  he  checked  the  fury  of  his  soldiers,  took 
good  care  of  the  wounded  enemy,  and  set  many  of  the  prison- 
ers at  liberty.  So  much  valor  and  so  much  generosity  made, 
however,  no  impression  upon  the  Leaguers. 

The  civil  wars  of  France  became  the  quarrel  of  all  Europe. 
King  Philip  H  earnestly  defended  the  League :  Queen  Eliza- 
beth gave  all  sorts  of  succor  to  Henry,  not  because  he  was  a 
Protestant,  but  because  he  was  an  enemy  of  Philip  H,  the 
growth  of  whose  power  was  dangerous  to  her.  She  sent  to 
Henry  five  thousand  men,  under  the  command  of  her  favorite, 
the  Earl  of  Essex,  whose  head  she  afterwards  cut  off. 

The  king  continued  the  war  with  varied  success.  He  took 
by  assault  all  the  suburbs  of  Paris  in  a  single  day.  He  might, 
perhaps,  have  taken  the  city  itself,  if  he  had  merely  thought  of 
conquering  it,  but  he  feared  to  give  his  capital  as  a  prey  to  the 
soldiers,  and  to  ruin  a  city  which  he  desired  to  save.  He  be- 
sieged Paris ;  he  raised  the  siege ;  he  recommenced  it ;  finally, 
he  invested  the  city  and  cut  off  all  communication  with  it,  in 


ESSAY.  6\f 

the  hope  that  the  Parisians  would  be  forced,  by  want  of  provi- 
sions, to  surrender  without  the  effusion  of  blood. 

But  Mayenne,  the  priests,  and  the  Sixteen,  influenced  all  the 
citizens  Avith  so  much  art,  envenomed  them  so  strongly  against 
the  heretics,  and  filled  their  imagination  with  so  much  fanati- 
cism, that  they  preferred  to  die  of  hunger  rather  than  surren- 
der and  obey. 

The  monks  and  other  religious  presented  a  spectacle  which, 
while  ridiculous  in  itself,  was  a  wonderful  means  of  animating 
the  people.  They  performed  a  sort  of  military  review,  marching 
by  rank  and  file,  and  wearing  rusty  armor  over  their  habits, 
having  at  their  head  the  figure  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  brandish- 
ing their  swords,  and  crying  out  that  they  were  ready  to  fight 
and  die  in  defence  of  the  faith.  The  citizens  seeing  their  con- 
fessors thus  armed,  believed  that  they  were  actually  maintain- 
ing the  cause  of  God. 

The  scarcity  of  provisions  soon  became  a  general  famine : 
the  citizens  had  no  other  nourishment  than  the  sermons  of  the 
priests  and  the  imaginary  miracles  of  the  monks,  who,  by  this 
pious  artifice,  contrived  to  have  every  thing  in  abundance  in 
their  convents,  while  the  whole  city  was  on  the  point  of  dying 
with  hunger.  The  wretched  Parisians,  deceived,  at  first,  by 
the  hope  of  prompt  relief,  went  about  the  streets  singing  bal- 
lads and  lampoons  against  Henry :  a  folly  which  could  not, 
with  any  semblance  to  truth,  be  attributed  to  any  other  nation, 
but  which  is  perfectly  characteristic  of  the  French,  even  in 
so  frightful  a  condition.  This  short  and  deplorable  joy  was 
soon  entirely  suppressed  by  the  most  real  and  astonishing 
misery :  thirty  thousand  men  died  of  hunger  in  the  space  of 
one  month.  The  miserable  citizens,  pressed  by  the  famine, 
tried  to  make  a  sort  of  bread  from  the  bones  of  the  dead,  which 
being  broken  and  boiled,  formed  a  sort  of  jelly ;  but  this  un- 
natural nourishment  served  only  to  hasten  their  death.  It  is 
related  (and  this  is  attested  by  unimpeachable  witnesses)  that 
one  woman  killed  and  eat  her  own  child.'     But  the  inflexible 

»  This  forms  an  episode  in  the  Tenth  Canto. 


40  THE  IIENKIADE. 

obstinacy  of  the  Parisians  was  equal  to  their  sufferings.  Ilenry 
had  more  compassion  for  their  condition  than  they  had  for 
themselves.  His  good  nature  led  him  to  act  in  opposition  to 
his  private  interest. 

lie  permitted  his  soldiers  to  sell  privately  all  sorts  of  pro- 
visions in  the  city.  Thus  happened  what  was  never  before 
seen, — the  besieged  fed  by  the  besiegers.  It  was  a  strange 
spectacle  to  see  soldiers  in  the  bottom  of  their  trenches  send- 
ing provisions  to  their  enemies,  who,  in  return,  threw  money 
to  them  from  their  ramparts.  Officers,  led  away  by  the 
licentiousness  so  common  among  soldiers,  would  exchange 
a  loin  of  beef  for  a  damsel,  so  that  it  was  not  unusual  to 
see  women  descending  in  buckets,  and  buckets  ascending 
laden  with  provisions.  Thus  an  unseasonable  freedom  reigned 
among  the  officers ;  the  soldiers  amassed  a  great  deal  of 
money,  the  besieged  were  comforted,  and  the  king  lost  the 
city ;  for,  while  these  things  were  going  on,  an  army  of  Span- 
iards arrived  from  the  Low  Countries.  The  king  was  obliged 
to  raise  the  siege,  and  encounter  all  the  dangers  and  hazards 
of  the  battle-field.  The  Spaniards  having  been  driven  from 
the  kingdom,  he  returned  a  third  time  before  Paris,  which 
refused  still  more  obstinately  to  receive  him. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  that  phantom 
of  royalty,  died.  An  assembly  held  in  Paris  convoked  the 
States-General  for  the  purpose  of  electing  a  new  king.  Spain 
here  exercised  a  great  influence  :  Mayenne  had  a  large  party 
who  wished  to  put  him  upon  the  throne.  Finally,  Henry, 
weary  of  the  cruel  necessity  of  making  eternal  war  on  his  own 
subjects,  and  knowing,  moreover,  that  it  was  not  his  person, 
but  his  religion,  that  they  hated,  resolved  to  return  into  the 
bosom  of  the  Church  of  Rome.  A  few  weeks  afterwards,  Paris 
opened  its  gates.  What  had  been  impossible  to  his  valor  and 
his  magnanimity,  he  obtained  easily  by  going  to  mass,  and 
receiving  the  pope's  absolution. 

In  God's  own  name,  by  whom  all  monarchs  reign, 
He  enters  Paris  :  while  the  Leaguer  train 
Bow  submissive.    E'en  the  meddling  priests 


ESSAY. 

Are  dumb  ;  and  all  around,  with  jocund  feasts 
And  cries  of  joy,  tlie  vaulted  heavens  ring, 
And  hail  at  once  a  conqueror,  father,  king. 
Henceforth  all  nations  own'd  his  regal  state, 
Too  soon  determined,  as  begun  too  late. 
The  Austrian  trembled  ;  and  by  Kome  approved, 
In  Henry's  virtues  was  his  Rome  beloved. 
Discord  was  exiled  from  Lutitia's  shore, 
And  Mayenne  brave,  a  rebel  now  no  more, 
Himself  his  province  in  subjection  brings, 
The  best  of  subjects  to  the  best  of  kings. 


41 


THE    HEI^RIADE 


CANTO  I 


THE  ARGUMElfT. 

Henry  III,  joined  by  Henry  de  Bourbon,  king  of  Navarre,  against  tlio 
League,  having  blockaded  Paris,  sends  Henry  de  Bourbon  privately  to 
England,  in  hopes  of  obtaining  succors  from  Queen  Elizabeth.  A  vio- 
lent storm  overtaking  him  in  his  voyage,  he  is  obliged  to  put  into  an 
island,  where  an  old  hermit  receives  him,  and  foretells  his  change  of 
religion,  and  accession  to  the  throne. — Description  of  England  and  its 
government. 


THE  HENRIADE. 


CANTO  THE  FIRST. 

The  chief  renown'd,  who  ruled  in  France,  I  sing, 
By  right  of  conquest,  and  of  birth,  a  king ; 
In  various  sufterings  resolute,  and  brave. 
Faction  he  quell'd  ;  he  conquer'd  and  forgave  ; 
Subdued  the  dangerous  League,  and  factious  Mayne, 
And  curb'd  the  head-strong  arrogance  of  Spain, 
He  taught  those  realms  he  conquer'd  to  obey  ; 
And  made  his  subjects  happy  by  his  sway. 

0  heaven-born  Truth,  descend ;  celestial  Muse, 
Thy  power,  thy  brightness,  in  my  verse  infuse. 
Let  kings  attentive  hear  thy  voice  divine ; 
To  teach  the  monarchs  of  mankind,  is  thine. 
'Tis  thine,  to  war-enkindled  realms  to  show 
What  dire  effects  from  curst  divisions  flow. 
Relate  the  troubles  of  preceding  times ; 
The  people's  sufferings,  and  the  prince's  crimes. 
And  oh !  if  fable  may  her  succors  lend. 
And  with  thy  voice  her  softer  accents  blend ; 
If  on  thy  light  her  shades  sweet  graces  shed. 
If  her  fair  hand  e'er  deck'd  thy  sacred  head, 
Let  her  with  me  through  all  thy  limits  rove, 
Not  to  conceal  thy  beauties,  but  improve. 


46  THE   HENRIADE. 

Valois'  then  govern'd  the  distracted  land ; 
Loose  flow'd  the  reins  of  empire  in  his  hand : 
Rights  were  confounded,  laws  neglected  bore 
No  force,  for  Valois  rather  reign'd  no  more. 
No  more  the  prince  for  deeds  of  war*  renown'd, 
Whom,  as  her  son  victorious,  conquest  own'd ; 
Whose  arms  through  Europe  spread  disorder'd  fear, 
Whose  loyal  subjects  shed  the  pious  tear. 
When  the  bleak  North  proclaim'd  him  truly  great. 
And  laid  her  crowns  and  sceptres  at  his  feet.' 
Those  rays  of  glory,  erst  in  battle  won, 
No  longer,  now,  illumed  that  monarch's  throne. 
There  indolently,  in  inglorious  ease. 
Reclined  he  fondly  in  the  arms  of  peace  : 
Too  weak  to  bear,  e'en  for  a  single  hour. 
The  regal  diadem  and  weight  of  power. 
Voluptuous  youths  usurp'd  the  sole  command,* 

1  Henry  III,  king  of  France,  one  of  the  principal  personages  in  this 
poem,  is  here  always  called  Valois,  the  name  of  the  royal  branch  to  which 
he  belonged. 

2  Henry  III  (Valois),  while  duke  d'Anjou,  commanded  the  armies  of 
Charles  IX,  his  brother,  against  the  Protestants,  and  gained,  at  the  age  of 
eighteen,  the  battles  of  Jamac  and  Moncontour. 

3  The  Duke  d'Anjou  was  elected  king  of  Poland  through  the  instru- 
mentality of  Jean  de  Montluc,  bishop  of  Valence,  ambassador  of  France 
to  Poland ;  he  went  there  very  reluctantly  to  receive  the  crown ;  but  hav- 
ing heard,  in  1574,  of  the  death  of  his  brother,  he  did  not  delay  his  return 
to  France  (1741). 

*  Quelus  and  Saint-Megrin,  Joyeuse  and  d'Epernon ;  they  were  called 
the  minions  of  Henry  III.  Saint-Luc,  Livarot,  Villcquier,  Duguast,  and 
Maugiron,  shared  also  his  favor  and  his  debauches.  It  is  certain  that  he 
had  for  Quelus  a  passion  capable  of  the  greatest  excess.  In  his  early  youth, 
he  was  reproached  for  his  tastes  :  he  had  had  a  very  equivocal  friendship 
for  that  same  Duke  de  Guise  whom  he  afterwards  caused  to  be  slain  at 
Blois.  Doctor  Boucher,  in  his  book,  De  justa  Henrici  tertii  abdicatione, 
dares  to  say  that  the  hatred  of  Henry  III  for  the  Cardinal  de  Guise  had  no 
other  foundation  than  the  repulses  that  he  had  received  from  him  in  his 
youth ;  but  this  story  resembles  all  the  other  calumnies  with  which  the 
book  of  Boucher  is  filled. 

Henry  III,  in  the  society  of  his  minions,  mingled  religion  with  debauch- 


THE    IIENRIADE.  47 

And  reign'd,  in  truth,  the  sovereigns  of  the  land. 
Pleased  in  their  soft  luxurious  prince  to  find 
Corrupted  morals,  and  a  girlish  mind. 
Meantime  the  Guises  rose  at  fortune's  call ; 


ery.  "With  them  he  made  retreats  and  performed  pilgrimages,  and  took  the 
discipline.  He  instituted  the  Brotherhood  of  Death,  either  for  the  death 
of  one  of  his  pets,  or  for  that  of  the  Princess  de  Conde,  his  mistress:  the 
capucins  and  minims  were  the  directors  of  the  Brothers,  among  whom  he 
admitted  a  few  of  the  citizens  of  Paris.  These  brothers  were  dressed  in 
a  robe  of  bolting-cloth,  with  a  cowl.  In  another  and  quite  different  broth- 
erhood, that  of  the  White  Penitents,  he  admitted  his  courtiers  only.  He 
believed,  like  certain  theologians  of  his  time,  that  these  mummeries  ex- 
piated habitual  sins.  It  is  held  that  the  statutes  of  these  brothers,  their 
dress,  their  manners,  were  emblems  of  his  amours,  and  that  the  poet  Des- 
portes,  abbe  de  Tryon,  one  of  the  shrewdest  courtiers  of  that  day,  explained 
them  in  a  book  which  he  afterwards  threw  into  the  fire. 

Henry  III  lived  in  all  the  effeminacy  and  primness  of  a  coquettish  fe- 
male :  he  slept  in  gloves  made  of  a  particular  skin,  in  order  to  preserve 
the  beauty  of  his  hands,  which  were,  in  fact,  more  beautiful  than  those  of 
any  of  the  women  of  his  court ;  he  put  upon  his  face  a  prepared  paste,  and 
over  this  a  sort  of  mask.  It  is  thus  that  he  is  spoken  of  in  the  book  en- 
titled Hermaphrodites,  which  gives  minute  details  concerning  his  sleeping, 
his  rising,  and  his  dressing.  He  had  a  scrupulous  exactitude  in  regard  to 
neatness  in  dress :  so  attached  was  he  to  these  petty  things,  that  he  one 
day  sent  the  Duke  d'Epernon  fVom  his  presence,  because  he  appeared 
before  him  without  white  slippers  and  in  an  ill-buttoned  garb. 
^  .  Quelus  was  killed  in  a  duel,  April  27,  1578. 

Louis  de  Maugiron,  baron  d'Ampus,  was  one  of  the  minions  for  whom 
Henry  III  had  the  greatest  fondness  :  he  was  a  young  man  of  great  courage 
and  of  great  promise.  He  performed  some  very  handsome  feats  at  the 
siege  of  Issoire,  where  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  an  eye.  This  acci- 
dent still  left  him  sufficient  charms  for  the  taste  of  the  king.  He  was 
compared  to  the  Princess  d'Eboli,  who,  being  half  blind  like  himself,  was 
at  the  same  time  mistress  of  Philip  II,  king  of  Spain.  It  is  said  that  it 
was  for  this  princess  and  for  Maugiron  that  an  Italian  made  these  four 
beautiful  lines,  borrowed  from  the  Greek  anthology : 

"Lumine  Aeon  dextro,  capta  est  Leonids  sinistro, 
Et  poterat  forma  vincere  uterque  deos: 
Parve  puer,  lumen  qnod  habes  concede  puellae; 
Sic  tu  ceecus  Amor,  sic  erit  ilia  Venus." 

Maugiron  was  killed  while  backing  Quelus  in  his  quarrel. 

Paul  Stuart  de  Caussade  de  Saint-Megrin,  a  gentleman  from  the  vicinity 
of  Bordeaux,  was  beloved  by  Henry  III  as  much  as  Quelus  and  Maugiron, 
and  died  in  as  tragical  a  manner.    He  was  assassinated  on  the  21st  of  July, 


iS  THE  UENKIADE. 

•  .^ 

And  built  their  schemes  of  greatness  on  his  fall. 

Thence  sprang  the  League,  which  proved  the  fatal  source 

Of  numerous  ills,  and  baflled  all  his  force. 

The  servile  crowd,  with  vain  chimeras  fed, 

Too  blindly  follow'd  where  the  tyrants  led. 

Then  from  his  ease  was  Valois  forced  to  fly, 

No  faithful  friend,  no  kind  protector  nigh. 

All  had  been  lost,  but  warlike '  Bourbon  came, 

Whose  generous  soul  was  fired  with  virtue's  flame, 

of  the  same  year,  in  the  street  St.  Ilonord,  while  returning  to  the  Louvre, 
about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  lie  was  carried  to  the  same  hotel  do 
Boissy,  where  his  two  friends  had  died ;  and  there,  on  the  next  day,  died 
of  four-and-thirty  wounds  which  he  had  received  the  night  before.  The 
Duke  de  Guise,  the  Balafrc,  was  suspected  of  this  assassination,  because 
Saint-Megrin  had  boasted  of  having  slept  with  the  Duchess  de  Guise. 
The  Memoirs  of  the  times  relate  that  the  Duke  de  Mayenne  was  recog- 
nized among  the  assassins  by  his  large  beard,  and  by  his  hand  shaped  like 
a  shoulder  of  mutton.  The  Duke  de  Guise  had  not,  however,  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  strict  in  regard  to  the  conduct  of  his  wife ;  and  there  is  no 
reason  for  believing  that  the  Duke  de  Mayenne,  who  was  never  guilty  of 
a  mean  action,  would  disgrace  himself  so  much  as  to  mingle  in  a  crowd  of 
twenty  assassins  in  order  to  kill  a  single  man. 

The  king  kissed  Saint-Megrin,  Qudlus,  and  Maugiron,  after  their  death, 
caused  them  to  be  shaved,  and  preserved  their  blond  locks.  With  his  own 
hand,  he  detached  the  rings  which  he  himself  had  fastened  in  the  cars  of 
Quelus.  M.  de  I'Estoile  says  that  these  three  minions  died  without  a  par- 
ticle of  religion :  Maugiron  in  blaspheming ;  Quelus  in  crying  out  inces- 
santly, "Ah!  my  king,  my  king!"  hut  not  a  single  word  concerning  Jesm 
Christ  or  the  Virgin.  They  were  buried  at  Saint  Paul's;  in  which  church 
the  king  caused  three  marble  tombs  to  be  erected,  upon  which  they  were 
represented  in  a  kneeling  posture.  These  tombs  Avere  covered  with  Latin 
and  French  epitaphs,  in  prose  and  verse.  In  them,  Maugiron  was  com- 
pared to  Horatius  Codes  and  to  Hannibal,  because  like  these  heroes,  he 
was  partially  blind.  These  epitaphs  are  not  reproduced  here,  although 
they  are  to  be  found  only  in  the  Antiquites  de  Paris,  printed  under  the 
reign  of  Henry  III.  There  is  nothing  remarkable  nor  particularly  good  in 
them ;  the  best  is  the  epitaph  upon  the  tomb  of  Quelus : 

"Non  injuriam,  sed  mortem  patienter  tullt." 
"He  could  not  bear  e'en  insult's  breath 
Yet  patiently  could  suffer  death." 

On  Joyeuse,  see  notes  to  the  third  canto. 

1  Henry  IV,  the  hero  of  this  poem,  is  here  indifferently  called  Bourbon 
or  Henry.     He  was  born  at  Pau,  in  Beam,  December  13,  1553. 


THE    HENRIAJie.  ^ 

'Twas  his,  the  royal  sacrifice  to  savef^^^*  v*V»^ 
And  prove  the  feeble  monarch  to  be  brave. 
The  kings  to  Paris  with  their  troops  advance, 
While  all  the  eyes  of  Europe  turn  to  France. 
Kome  takes  the  alarm,  her  fears  the  Spaniards  share, 
And  wait  with  dread  the  issue  of  the  war. 

High  on  the  walls  inhuman  Discord  stood, 
Eager  for  slaughter,  and.athirst  for  blood  ; 
Through  all  the  city  raged,  nor  raged  in  vain. 
But  drove  to  arms  the  hostile  League,  and  Mayne ; 
Through  Church  and  State  her  deadly  poison  spread, 
And  call'd  the  proud  Iberia  to  her  aid. 
The  savage  monster  scenes  of  horror  loves, 
And  plagues  the  votaries  whom  her  soul  approves. 
Fain  to  her  torments  she  could  wish  consign'd, 
Not  only  France,  but  all  of  human  kind. 
Westward  of  Paris,  where  the  winding  Seine 
Adorns  each  meadow  with  eternal  green, 
Where  oft  the  Graces  and  the  Muses  play, 
The  troops  of  Valois  form  in  dread  array. 
There,  whom  religion  sway'd  by  different  laws. 
Revenge  united  in  their  sovereign's  cause. 
A  thousand  chiefs  stood  forth  at  Bourbon's  word ; 
Love  join'd  their  hearts,  and  valor  drew  the  sword. 
With  joy  they  trod  the  splendid  paths  of  fame, 
But  one  their  leader,  and  their  church  the  same. 

Immortal '  Louis  eyed  him  from  above 
With  all  the  fondness  of  parental  love  ; 
Virtues  he  saw,  which  Gallia's  king  might  grace, 


^  Saint  Louis,  the  ninth  of  that  name,  king  of  France,  from  whom  the 
Bourbon  branch  descended. 


50  THE   IIENRIADE. 

And  future  glories  worthy  of  his  race. 
CharmM  by  his  courage,  with  prophetic  glance, 
He  call'd  him  to  the  throne  of  wretched  France ; 
Nor  stopp'd  his  favors  here  :  Heaven's  purest  light, 
.  Drove  from  his  mind  the  shades  of  Error's  night. 
Thus  valiant  Henry  gain'd  the  regal  crown, 
By  paths  mysterious  to  himself  unknown. 
Louis  was  present  from  his  blest  abode. 
To  urge  the  youthful  hero  on  his  road. 
And  all  unseen  the  kind  assistance  came, 
That  toils  and  dangers  might  augment  his  fame. 

Already  had  been  seen,  in  awful  rage 
Of  doubtful  war,  the  embattled  ranks  engage. 
Already  o'er  the  plains  had  carnage  spread, 
With  desolating  hand,  her  heaps  of  dead. 
When  Valois  thus  to  faithful  Bourbon  spoke. 
Mid  sighs  and  tears  that  oft  his  utterance  broke. 

"  See  to  Avhat  height  thy  monarch's  ills  are  grown, 
There  read  the  faithful  portrait  of  thy  own. 
AVith  equal  hate  the  factious  Leaguers  join 
To  strike  at  Bourbon's  glory,  and  at  mine. 
Seditious  Paris,  with  a  proud  disdain. 
Rejects  the  present  and  the  future  reign. 
The  ties  of  blood,  the  laws,  each  generous  care 
That  fills  thy  soul,  proclaim  thee  lawful  heir. 
Great  are  thy  virtues,  and,  I  blush  to  own, 
For  this  would  Paris  drive  thee  from  the  throne ; 
Nay  more,  to  show  that  heaven  approves  the  deed, 
Religion  heaps  her  curses  on  thy  head ;' 


»  Henry  IV,  king  of  Navarre,  was  solemnly  excommunicated  by  Pope 
Sixtus  V  in  1585,  three  years  before  the  events  here  related.    The  pope, 


THE   HENRIADE.  51 

Rome,  witliout  armies,  distant  nations  awes. 
While  Spain  her  thunder  hurls,  asserts  her  cause. 
Friends,  subjects,  kindred,  in  this  evil  day, 
Or  basely  fly,  or  proudly  disobey. 
Rich  is  the  harvest  of  Iberia's  gains, 
"Who  pours  her  legions  on  my  desert  plains. 
Perchance,  the  succors  of  a  foreign  force 
May  stop  the  impending  danger  in  its  course. 
Britannia's  queen  may  lend  the  friendly  aid. 
And  mutual  terror  may  our  foes  invade. 
What  though  eternal  jealousy  and  pride 
Oppose  our  interest,  and  our  hearts  divide ; 
When  vile  affronts  have  made  my  honor  poor. 
My  subjects,  and  my  country,  are  no  more, 
Who  comes  these  proud  insulters  to  control. 
Is  most  my  friend,  and  dearest  to  my  soul. 
No  common,  listless  agent  will  I  trust ; 
Be  thou  my  envoy  in  a  cause  so  just. 
On  thee  my  fortune  in  the  war  depends. 
Thy  merit  only  can  procure  me  friends." 

Thus  Valois  spoke,  and  Bourbon  heard  with  grief 
The  new  designs  and  counsels  of  the  chief. 
His  great  and  generous  mind  disdain'd  to  yield, 
And  thus  divide  the  glory  of  the  field. 
There  was  a  time  when  conquest  met  his  arm. 


in  his  bull,  calls  him  a  detestable  bastard  of  the  house  of  Bourbon  ;  deprives 
him,  and  all  the  house  of  Conde,  forever,  of  all  their  domains  and  fiefi?, 
and  declares  them  especially  incapable  of  succeeding  to  the  crown. 

Although  the  King  of  Navarre  and  the  Prince  de  Conde  were,  at  that 
time,  in  arms  at  the  head  of  the  Protestants,  the  parliament,  always  anx- 
ious to  preserve  the  honor  and  the  liberties  of  the  State,  remonstrated 
earnestly  against  this  bull ;  and  Henry  caused  a  proclamation  to  be  made 
in  Eome,  at  the  door  of  the  Vatican,  that  Sixtus  V,  a  self-styled  pope,  had 
lied,  and  was  a  heretic  himself,  etc. 


62  THE   HENRI ADE. 

And  his  those  honors  which  the  brave  can  charm ; 
When  strong  in  power,  unaided  by  intrigue, 
Ilimself  by  Conde's '  side,  appall'd  the  League. 
Yet,  in  obedience  to  the  king's  command. 
He  left  his  laurels  and  withdrew  his  hand. 
The  troops,  amazed,  with  restless  ardor  burn. 
Their  fate,  their  fortune  waiting  his  return. 
The  absent  hero  still  preserved  his  fame. 
The  guilty  city  shudder'd  at  his  name  ; 
Each  moment  thought  the  mighty  waiTior  near, 
With  death  and  desolation  in  his  rear. 

He  through  the  plains  of  Neustria  bends  his  way. 
Attended  only  by  his  friend  Mornay.^ 
From  whose  just  lips  no  word  of  flattery  fell. 
Too  good  alas !  in  Error's  camp  to  dwell. 


1  This  was  Henri,  prince  de  Cond6,  son  of  Louis,  who  was  killed  at 
Jamac.  Henri  de  Conde  was  the  hope  of  the  Protestant  party.  He  died 
at  Saint-Jean-d'Anf?cly,  in  1585,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five  years.  His  wife, 
Charlotte  de  la  Trimouille,  was  accused  of  his  death.  She  was  three 
months  gone  with  child  when  her  husband  died ;  and  six  months  after- 
wards was  delivered  of  Henri  de  Conde,  second  of  the  name,  whom  a 
popular  and  ridiculous  tradition  represented  to  have  been  born  thirteen 
months  after  the  death  of  his  father. 

Larrey  has  adopted  this  tradition  in  his  History  of  Louis  XIF, — a  history 
in  which  style,  truth,  and  good  sense  are  equally  neglected. 

2  Duplessis-Mornay,  the  greatest  and  most  virtuous  man  of  the  Protes- 
tant party,  was  born  at  Buy,  November  5,  1549.  He  knew  perfectly  the 
Latin  and  Greek  languages,  and  was  also  well  acquainted  with  the  Hebrew, 
which  was  unusual  among  gentlemen  in  those  days.  He  served  his  reli- 
gion and  his  master  both  by  means  of  his  pen  and  his  sword.  He  it  was 
whom  Henry  IV,  while  yet  king  of  Navarre,  sent  to  Elizabeth,  queen  of 
England.  He  had  no  other  instructions  from  his  master  than  a  blank  sig- 
nature. He  succeeded  in  almost  all  his  negotiations,  because  he  was  a  true 
politician  and  not  an  intriguer.  His  letters  are  said  to  be  written  with 
much  vigor  and  wisdom. 

When  Henry  IV  changed  his  religion,  Mornay  reproached  him  in  the 
severest  terms,  and  retired  from  his  court.  He  was  called  the  Pope  of  the 
Huguenots.  All  that  is  said  of  his  character  in  the  poem  is  conformable 
with  historj'. 


THE    IIENRIADE.  63 

By  zeal  and  prudence  studious  to  advance  j 

Alike  the  interest  of  his  Church  and  France.  | 
The  courtier's  censor,  but  at  court  beloved,  I 
Rome's  greatest  foe,  and  yet  by  Rome  approved. 

Between  two  rocks,  which  hoary  ocean  laves, 
And  beats  with  all  the  fury  of  his  waves. 
The  port  of  Dieppe  meets  the  hero's  eyes. 
And  for  him  eager  mariners  supplies. 
Their  hands  prepare  the  vessels  for  the  main. 
Those  sovereign  rulers  of  the  azure  plain. 
And  stormy  Boreas,  fast-enchain'd  in  air. 
Leaves  the  smooth  sea  to  softer  Zephyr's  care. 
Their  anchor  weigh'd,  the  chieftains  quit  the  strand. 
And  soon  descry  Britannia's  happy  land. 

When  lo !  the  day's  bright  star  is  hid  in  clouds, 
And  gathering  whirlwinds  whistle  through  the  shrouds ; 
Heaven  gives  her  thunder,  waves  on  waves  arise. 
And  floods  of  lightning  burst  from  angry  skies  ; 
Death  now  his  form  upon  the  billow  rears, 
And  on  the  stricken  sailors  fiercely  glares. 
Nor  death  nor  dangers  Bourbon's  soul  annoy, 
His  country's  sorrows  all  his  cares  employ ; 

The  autlior's  reason  for  giving  Mornay  a  place  in  the  poem,  is  the  phil- 
osopliic  character  that  belonged  to  him  alone,  and  which  is  developed  in  * 
the  eighth  canto : 

"  The  king  alone  employ'd  his  generous  thought ; 
For  his  defence  the  iinbattled  field  he  sought; 
Detested  war,  and,  singularly  brave, 
Could  death  confront,  though  death  he  riover  gave." 

Again  in  the  sixth  canto  : 

"  War  was  heaven's  scourge  on  man,  he  wisely  thought, 
Nor  loved  the  task,  but  took  it  as  his  lot ; 
E'en  for  the  wonders  of  his  sword  he  grieved. 
And  loathed  it  for  the  glories  it  achieved." 


54  THE   IlENRTADE. 

-^  For  her  he  casts  tlic  longing  look  behind, 
The  storm  accuses  and  condemns  the  wind. 
Less  generous  warmth  the  Roman's '  breast  inspired, 
By  love  of  conquest  and  ambition  fired, 
When  launching  boldly  from  Epirus'  coast, 
By  angry  seas  and  furious  tempests  tost, 
He  dared  his  mightier  fortune  to  oppose 
To  all  the  power  of  Neptune,  and  his  foes ; 
Firm,  and  convinced,  that  no  impending  doom 
Could  snatch  its  monarch  from  the  world,  and  Rome. 

'Twas  then  that  Being,  infinitely  wise. 
At  whose  command  all  empires  fall  or  rise, 
Who  gave  this  world  its  fair  and  beauteous  form, 
Who  calms  the  ocean,  and  directs  the  storm. 
On  Gallia's  hero  look'd  with  pity  down, 
From  the  bright  radiance  of  His  sapphire  throne. 
The  waves,  obedient  to  His  dread  command, 
Convey'd  the  vessel  to  the  neighboring  land. 
Guided  by  Heaven,  secure  the  hero  stood 
Where  Jersey's  isle  emerges  from  the  flood. 

Near  to  the  shore  there  lay  a  calm  retreat, 
By  shades  defended  from  the  solar  heat ; 
A  rock,  that  hid  the  fury  of  the  seas. 
Forbid  the  entrance  of  each  ruder  breeze  ; 
By  Nature's  hand  adorn'd,  a  mossy  grot 
Improved  the  beauties  of  this  rural  spot. 
A  holy  hermit,  train'd  in  wisdom's  ways. 


1  Julius  Caesar  being  in  Epirus,  in  the  city  of  Apollonia,  now  Ceres,  se- 
cretly withdrew,  and  embarked  upon  the  little  river  Bolineeus,  which  was 
then  called  the  Anius.  During  the  night,  he  entered  a  twelve-oared  bark, 
in  order  to  join  his  troops  which  were  in  the  kingdom  of  Naples.  lie  en- 
countered a  furious  tempest.    (See  Plutarch.) 


THE   HENRIADE.  55 

There  spent  the  quiet  evening  of  his  days. 

Lost  to  the  world,  and  all  it's  trifling  show, 

His  only  study  was  himself  to  know. 

His  peaceful  mind  would  dwell  on  any  thought, 

By  holy  love  adduced,  or  pleasure  brought. 

The  flowery  meadows,  and  the  silver  streams, 

Had  raised  his  soul  to  most  ennobling  themes. 

Each  passion  quell'd  in  this  retired  abode. 

His  ardent  wish  was  union  with  his  God. 

Wisdom  before  him  spread  her  ample  page,  >-^ 

And  heaven  protected  his  declining  age ; 

She  pour'd  her  purest  blessings  on  his  head. 

And  taught  him  Fate's  mysterious  book  to  read. 

Scarce  does  the  hoary  sage  the  strangers  view, 

Than,  taught  by  God,  the  prince  he  straightway  knew ; 

Near  to  a  crystal  stream  he  bids  him  taste 

The  simple  food  that  made  his  rural  feast. 

And  oft  had  Henry  flown  from  pomp,  and  care, 

To  humble  cottages,  and  simple  fare  ; 

Had  bid  adieu  to  courts,  and  courtly  pride. 

And  laid  the  pomp  of  majesty  aside. 

In  plain  and  useful  converse  much  was  said 
Of  troubles  through  the  Christian  empire  spread. 
Mornay  unmoved,  determined  to  protect, 
With  zealous  fervor,  Calvin  and  his  sect. 
Henry,  in  doubt  what  precepts  to  believe, 
Petition'd  Heaven  one  ray  of  light  to  give. 
"  Error,"  he  said,  "  in  all  preceding  times. 
Has  truth  conceal'd,  and  been  the  nurse  of  crimes. 
Must  I  then  wander,  and  mistake  the  road, 
Whose  only  confidence  is  placed  in  God  ? 
A  God,  so  gracious,  will  afford  that  light, 
AVhich  man  requires  to  worship  Him  aright." 


5G  THE   HENRIADE. 

"  Let  US,"  replied  tlie  venerable  seer, 
"  God's  secret  counsels  and  designs  revere. 
Nor  rashly  think,  that  human  errors  bring 
Their  muddy  currents  from  so  pure  a  spring. 
Well  I  remember,  when  these  aged  eyes 
Beheld  this  sect  in  humble  weakness  rise, 
When,  as  an  exile  dreading  human  sight, 
It  fled  for  refuge  to  the  shades  of  night. 
By  slow  degrees  the  phantom  raised  her  head. 
And  all  around  her  baleful  influence  shed. 
Placed  on  the  throne,  no  power  her  force  confines, 
She  reigns  our  tyrant,  and  overturns  our  shrines. 
Far  from  the  court,  in  this  obscure  retreat, 
With  sighs  arid  tears  I  weep  Religion's  fate. 
One  hope  remains  to  cheer  life's  dreary  vale  : 
So  strange  a  worship  cannot  long  prevail ; 
First  sprung  from  man,  and  founded  in  caprice. 
It's  new-born  glory  in  our  days  shall  cease. 
Frail,  like  ourselves,  all  human  works  decay ; 
God  sweeps  their  glory  and  their  pride  away. 
Immovable,  His  holy  city  stands ; 
Nor  dreads  the  malice  of  our  mortal  hands. 
In  rain  the  fabric  hell  and  time  invade  ; 
His  own  right  arm  the  strong  foundation  laid. 
On  thee,  great  Bourbon,  will  He  pour  His  light. 
And  chase  the  mists  of  error  from  thy  sight. 
On  Valois'  throne,  with  Providence  thy  shield. 
Bright  wilt  thou  shine,  and  all  thy  foes  shall  yield. 
Tlirough  paths  of  glory  conquest  leads  thy  sword : 
'Tis  Heaven's  decree ;  'tis  the  Almighty's  word. 
Yet  hope  not  rashly,  in  the  pride  of  youth, 
To  enter  Paris,  uninspired  by  truth. 
But  most,  of  love's  bewitching  draught  beware. 
The  bravest  hearts  are  conquer'd  by  the  fair. 


THE   HENRIADE.  57 

From  tliat  sweet  poison  guard  tliy  manly  soul ; 
Though  passion  call,  and  pleasure  crown  the  bowl. 
And  when,  at  length,  this  sage  advice  pursued, 
The  factious  Leaguers  and  thyself  subdued. 
In  horrid  siege  thy  bounteous  hand  shall  give 
Life  to  a  nation,  and  its  strength  revive  ; 
Then  all  thy  realms  shall  taste  the  sweets  of  peace, 
All  strife  shall  vanish,  and  all  discord  cease. 
Then  raise  thine  eyes  to  that  Almighty  Lord, 
Whom  erst  thy  fathers  honor'd  and  adored. 
Who  most  preserves  His  image,  most  shall  find 
That  virtue  pleases,  and  that  Heaven  is  kind." 

Thus  spoke  the  seer.    Each  word  new  warmth  bestow'd ; 
And  Henry's  soul  with  secret  raptures  glow'd. 
Those  happy  days  were  present  to  his  eyes, 
When  God,  to  man,  descended  from  the  skies ; 
When  Virtue  open'd  all  her  sacred  springs. 
Pronounced  her  oracles,  and  govern'd  kings. 
With  tears  he  clasp'd  the  hermit  to  his  breast. 
And  parting  sighs  his  honest  grief  exprest. 
Far  distant  scenes  creative  fancy  drew^, 
And  rising  glories  dawn'd  upon  his  view. 
Marks  of  surprise  were  stamp'd  on  Mornay's  face, 
But  Heaven  from  him  withheld  her  gifts  of  grace. 
The  world,  in  vain,  bestows  the  name  of  wise. 
Where  Virtue  beams,  but  Error's  clouds  arise. 

While  thus  the  sage,  enlighten'd  from  above, 
Spoke  to  the  heart,  and  tried  the  prince  to  move, 
Charm'd  with  his  voice  the  listening  Winds  subside, 
Phoebus  breaks  forth,  and  Ocean  smoothes  the  tide. 
By  him  conducted,  Bourbon  reach'd  the  shore, 
And  prosperous  gales  the  chief  to  Albion  bore. 


58  THE  IlfiNRIADE. 

With  joy  he  views  the  sea-encircled  isle, 
Refulgent  now  with  kindly  Fortune's  smile. 
Here  public  evils  whilom  owed  their  cause 
To  long  abuses  of  the  wisest  laws ; 
Here  many  a  warrior  fell,  of  high  renown  ; 
And  now  upon  the  ofttimes  tottering  throne, 
A  woman's  hand  the  regal  sceptre  sway'd, 
And  Fate  itself  her  sovereign  power  obey'd. 
'Tis  wise  Eliza,  whose  directing  hand 
Holds  the  great  scale  of  Europe  at  command. 
And  rules  a  people,  that  alike  disdain 
Or  freedom's  ease,  or  slavery's  iron  chain. 
Her  subjects  now  forget  their  former  ills ; 
Their  flocks  unnumber'd  browse  the  peaceful  hills; 
Corn  fills  their  plains,  and  fruitage  loads  their  trees ; 
Sovereigns  on  land,  and  monarchs  of  the  seas, 
From  pole  to  pole  their  gallant  navies  sweep 
The  waters  of  the  tributary  deep. 
On  Thames's  banks  each  flower  of  genius  thrives. 
There  sports  the  Muse,  and  Mars  his  thunder  gives. 
Three  different  powers  at  Westminster'  appear. 
And  all  admire  the  ties  which  join  them  there. 
Whom  interest  parts,  the  laws  together  brinor, 
•  The  people's  deputies,  the  peers,  and  king : 
The  sacred  members  of  that  mighty  frame. 
Itself  a  danger,  though  all  else  it  tame. 
Thrice  happy  times,  when  grateful  subjects  show 
That  loyal,  warm  affection  from  them  due  ! 
But  happier  still,  when  freedom's  blessings  spring 
From  the  wise  conduct  of  a  prudent  king. 


'  The  English  parliament  assembled  at  "Westminster.  The  concurrence 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  of  the  Lords,  with  the  consent  of  the  king, 
is  necessary  to  make  a  law. 


THE    IlENKIADE.  59 

"  Oil,  when,"  cried  Bourbon,  ravisli'd  at  the  sight, 
"  In  France,  shall  peace  and  glory  thus  unite  ? 
A  female  hand  has  closed  the  gates  of  war ! 
Look  on,  ye  monarchs !  and  adopt  her  care. 
Your  nations.  Discord's  horrid  tide  o'erwhelms  ; 
She  lives  the  blessing  of  adoring  realms." 

Now  at  that  thriving  city  he  arrives, 
Where,  nursed  by  heaven-born  Freedom,  Plenty  lives. 
Now,  mighty  William's'  tower  before  him  rears, 
And  now  Eliza's  stately  home  appears. 
Thither  he  speeds,  attended  by  Mornay, 
His  friend,  and  sole  associate  in  the  way. 
True  heroes  scorn  that  pageantry  and  state. 
Whose  glittering  honors  captivate  the  great. 
For  France  he  supplicates  with  humble  prayers, 
And  native  dignity  each  accent  bears. 
From  honest  frankness  all  his  periods  flow, 
The  only  eloquence  that  soldiers  know. 
"  Does  Valois  send  you  to  the  banks  of  Thames  ?" 
Eliza  cries,  surprised  at  Valois'  name. 
"  Are  all  your  dire  contentions  at  an  end  ? 
Are  you,  that  bitterest  enemy,  his  friend  ? 
Fame  spread  your  discords,  and  that  Fame  was  true, 
From  north  to  south,  from  Ganges  to  Peru. 
And  docB  that  arm,  so  dreaded  in  the  fight, 
Protect  his  honor,  and  maintain  his  right  ?" 

"  Distress,"  replied  the  chief,  "  hath  heal'd  our  hate. 
And  triumphs  now  great  Valois'  arms  await. 


.*  The  Tower  of  London  is  an  old  castle  on  the  Thames,  built  by  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror,  duke  of  Normandy. 


CO  TIIK   IlENltlADE. 

Far  happier  days  his  lot  it  were  to  see, 
Had  he  but  trusted  to  his  arm  and  me. 
But  fears  unmanly  in  his  breast  arose ; 
'Twas  art  and  cowardice  that  made  us  foes. 
Henceforth  the  vanquish'd  I  will  aid  to  live, 
Avenge  his  wrongs,  and  all  his  faults  forgive. 
This  war  so  just  may  raise  Britannia's  fame, — 
'Tis  thine,  great  queen,  to  signalize  her  name. 
Let  royal  mercy  spread  her  downy  wings. 
And  crown  thy  virtues  by  defending  kings." 

The  queen,  impatient,  asks  him  to  relate 
What  ruthless  evils  harass'd  Gallia's  state. 
What  springs  of  action  had  produced  a  change 
At  once  so  new,  so  pleasing,  and  so  strange. 
«  Full  oft  of  bloody  broils,"  Eliza  said, 
"  Through  Britain's  isle  has  fame  the  rumor  spread. 
But  who  for  certainty  on  ame  depends. 
Which  light  with  darkness,  truth  with  falsehood  blends  ; 
From  you,  or  Valois'  friend,  or  conquering  foe, 
Those  long  dissensions  I  could  wish  to  know. 
Yourself  was  witness,  and  can  best  impart 
What  mystic  ties  have  changed  so  brave  a  heart. 
Display  your  martial  deeds,  your  griefs  declare, 
No  life  more  worthy  of  a  royal  ear." ' 


1  Those  who  do  not  approve  of  this  sjipposcd  voyage  of  Ilenry  IV  to 
England,  may  say  that  the  author  is  notat  liberty  thus  to  mingle  false- 
hood with  truth  in  so  recent  a  reign ;  that  those  acquainted  with  the  his- 
tory of  France  must  be  shocked  by  it,  and  the  ignorant  led  into  error ;  that 
if  fictions  may  be  admitted  into  an  epic  poem,  the  reader  ought  to  be  able 
to  recognize  them  easily  as  such  ;  that  when  one  personifies  the  passions, 
paints  Politics  and  Discord  going  from  Eome  to  Paris,  or  Love  enchaining 
Ilenry  IV,  etc.,  nobody  is  deceived  by  these  pictures;  but  that,  when 
Henry  IV  is  represented  crossing  the  sea  to  ask  assistance  of  a  princess 
of  his  own  religion,  one  may  easily  believe  that  this  prince  really  made  the 


THE    IIKNKIADE.  61 

"  And  must  I,  then,"  return'd  tlic  chief,  with  sighs, 
"  Recall  those  scenes  of  horror  to  my  eyes  ! 
Oh,  would  to  heaven  oblivion's  endless  night, 
With  thickest  shades,  might  veil  them  from  my  sight ! 
Must  Bourbon  of  his  kindred,  then,  proclaim 
Crimes  which  so  oft  have  burn'd  his  cheeks  with  shame  ? 


voyage ;  that,  in  a  word,  such  an  episode  must  be  regarded  less  as  a  crea- 
tion of  the  poet  than  as  a  lie  of  the  historian. 

Those  who  are  of  a  contrary  opinion  may  say,  that  a  poet  is  not  only  at 
liberty  to  alter  history  in  the  principal  facts,  but  that  it  is  impossible  not 
to  do  so ;  that  an  event  was  never  in  the  world  so  disposed  by  chance 
that  it  could  be  used  in  an  epic  poem  without  being  changed  in  some 
particular;  that  we  need  not  be  more  scrupulous  in  a  poem  than  in 
tragedy,  where  much  greater  liberty  is  taken  ;  for  too  close  an  adherence 
to  history  would  cause  one  to  fall  into  the  defect  of  Lucan,  who  made  a 
gazette  in  verse  instead  of  an  epic  poem.  Indeed,  it  would  be  ridiculous 
to  transpose  events  principal  and  dependent  upon  one  another,  to  place 
the  battle  of  Ivry  before  the  battle  of  Coutras,  and  the  massacre  of  Saint 
Bartholomew  after  the  Barricades.  But  Henry  IV  may  be  sent  secretly  to 
England,  without  changing  in  any  wise  the  succession  of  the  historical 
events.  The  same  readers  who  are  shocked  at  his  making  a  sea-voyage  of 
a  few  leagues,  would  not  be  astonished  if  he  were  made  to  go  to  Guyenne, 
which  is  four  times  the  distance.  If  Virgil  made  ^neas  go  to  Italy,  where 
he  never  was,  if  he  made  him  fall  in  love  with  Dido,  who  lived  four  hun- 
dred years  after  him,  one  may,  without  much  scruple,  bring  together 
Henry  IV  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  esteemed  each  other,  and  who  had  a 
great  desire  to  meet.  Virgil,  it  will  be  said,  was  writing  of  a  very  remote 
period.  That  is  true ;  but  these  events,  though  of  remote  antiquity,  were 
very  well  known.  The  Eiad  and  the  History  of  Carthage  were  as  familiar 
to  the  Eomans  as  the  most  recent  histories  are  to  us  ;  a  French  poet  has 
as  much  right  to  deceive  the  reader  by  a  few  leagues,  as  Virgil  to  deceive 
him  by  three  hundred  years.  Finally,  this  commingling  of  history  and 
fsible  is  a  rule  established  and  followed,  not  only  in  all  poems,  but  in  all 
romances.  They  are  full  of  adventures  which,  indeed,  are  not  related  in 
history,  but  which  are  not  belied  by  it.  It  is  sufficient,  in  order  to  justify 
the  voyage  of  Henry  to  England,  to  find  a  time  during  which  history  does 
not  give  this  prince  any  other  occupation.  Now  it  is  certain  that,  after  the 
death  of  the  Guises,  Henry  could  have  made  this  journey,  which  would 
require  but  two  weeks  at  most,  and  might  have  been  accomplished  in  one. 
Besides,  this  episode  is  rendered  the  more  probable  by  the  fact  that  Queen 
Elizabeth,  six  months  afterwai'ds,  sent  four  thousand  English  soldiers  to 
Henry  the  Great.  Moreover,  it  must  be  observed  that  Henry  IV,  the  hero 
of  the  poem,  is  the  only  person  who  could  have  related,  worthily,  the  his- 
tory of  the  court  of  France,  and  tliore  is  hardly  anv  one,  save  Elizabeth, 


02  THE   UENKIADE. 

I  shudder  at  the  thought ;  but  your  command, 
Respect  of  power  forbids  me  to  withstand. 
Others,  no  doubt,  would  use  refined  address. 
Disguise  the  truth,  and  make  their  errors  less : 
But  I  reject  an  artifice  so  weak, 
And  like  a  soldier,  not  an  envoy,  speak." 


who  could  have  listened  to  it.  Finally,  it  must  be  known  whether  the 
things  said  by  Henry  IV  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  are  good  enough  to  excuse 
this  fiction  in  the  minds  of  those  who  condemn  it,  and  to  justify  those  who 
approve  it.  p 


THE    HEI^^RIADE 


CANTO  II, 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Henry  the  Great  relates  to  Queen  Elizabeth  the  history  of  the  civil  wars 
of  France.  He  traces  them  from  their  origin,  and  enters  into  a  detail 
of  the  massacres  committed  on  St.  Bartholomew's  Day. 


CANTO  THE   SECOND, 


"'In  France,  great  sovereign,  to  increase  the  curse,' 
Our  ills  are  risen  from  a  sacred  source. 
Religion,  raging  with  inhuman  zeal. 
Arms  every  hand,^  and  points  the  fatal  steel. 
To  me,  however,  it  will  least  belong, 
To  prove  the  Roman,  or  Geneva,  wrong. 
Whatever  names  divine  the  parties  claim, 
In  mad  imposture  they  are  both  the  same. 
If  in  the  strifes,  which  Europe's  sons  divide. 
Murder  and  treason  mark  the  erring  side ; 
Since  both  alike  in  blood  their  hands  imbrue, 
Their  crimes  are  equal,  and  their  blindness,  too. 
For  me,  whose  business  is  to  guard  the  state, 
I  leave  to  heaven  their  vengeance,  and  their  fate. 
My  hand  ne'er  trespass'd  on  the  rights  divine ; 

^  This  is  the  only  Canto  in  which  the  author  has  made  no  alterations. 

2  Some  inattentive  readers  will  be  startled  by  the  boldness  of  these  ex- 
pressions. It  is  proper  to  have  some  regard  for  their  scruples,  and  to 
observe  that  the  very  words  which  would  be  an  impiety  in  the  mouth 
of  a  Catholic,  are  quite  natural  in  that  of  the  King  of  Navarre.  He 
was  then  a  Calvinist.  Many  of  our  historians  even  describe  him  as  float- 
ing between  the  two  religions ;  and,  certainly,  if  he  judged  of  them  only 
by  the  conduct  of  the  two  parties,  he  must  have  distrusted  both  forms  of 
worship,  which  were  then  sustained  only  by  crimes.  He  is  presented  here 
a  man  of  honor,  as  he  really  was,  seeking  in  good  faith  to  be  enlightened ; 
the  friend  of  truth,  the  enemy  of  persecution,  and  detesting  crime  wher- 
ever he  found  it. 


(JO  THE   HENRIADE. 


Or  PftsLIp  seiiUd  the  censer  at  the  shrine. 
Perish  each  statesman  cruel,  and  unkind, 
Who  reigns  despotic  o'er  tlie  human  mind ; 
Who  stains  with  blood  religion's  sacred  word, 
And  strives  to  gain  new  converts  by  his  sword, 
Presuming  rashly,  that  a  gracious  God 
Approves  the  sacrifice  of  human  blood. 
Oh,  that  that  God,  whose  laws  I  wi^li  to  know, 
On  Valois'  court  my  feelings  would  bestow ! 
The  Guises '  falsely  plead  religion's  cause ; 
No  scruple  checks  them,  and  no  conscience  aAves. 
At  me  those  leaders,  insolent  and  proud, 
Direct  their  fury,  and  ensnare  the  crowd. 
These  eyes  have  seen  our  citizens  engage 
In  mutual  murders,  with  a  demon's  rage ; 
For  vain  disputes,  have  seen  their  pious  care 
Spread  all  around  the  horrid  flames  of  w'ar. 
You  know  the  madness  of  those  vulgar  minds, 
Which  faction  warms,  and  superstition  blinds ; 
When  proudly  arming  in  a  cause  divine. 
No  power  their  headstrong  passion  can  confine. 
Erst,  in  these  happy  realms,  yourself  beheld 


1  Francis,  duke  de  Guise,  then  commonly  called  the  Great  Duke  de 
Guise,  was  the  father  of  the  Balafre.  It  was  he,  who,  with  the  cardinal, 
his  son,  laid  the  foundations  of  the  League.  lie  had  three  great  qualities, 
which  it  is  very  important  not  to  confound  with  virtue. 

Thou,  the  great  historian,  relates  that  Francis  de  Guise  advocated  the 
assassination  of  Antoine  de  Navarre,  father  of  Henry  IV,  in  the  chamber 
of  Francis  II.  He  obtained  this  young  monarch's  consent  to  the  murder. 
Antoine  de  Navarre  had  a  brave  heart,  notwithstanding  the  feebleness  of 
his  mind.  He  was  informed  of  the  plot,  but  did  not  hesitate  to  enter  the 
chamber  in  which  it  was  agreed  to  assassinate  him.  "  If  they  kill  me," 
said  he  to  Keinsi,  his  attendant,  "  take  my  bloody  shirt  to  my  son  and  my 
wife;  they  will  read  in  my  blood  what  they  must  do  to  avenge  me." 
"  Francis  II  dared  not,"  says  M.  de  Thou,  "  stain  himself  with  this  crime  ; 
and  the  Duke  de  Guise,  on  leaving  the  chamber,  exclaimed,  '  What  a 
wretclied  Hng  we  liaveP  " 


THE    IIENElWii*-  . 

The  rising  evil,  and  it's  danger  quei^  " 

The  troubled  scene  assumed  a  milder  form  ; 

Your  virtuous  cares  subdued  the  gathering  storm. 

No  reign  more  pleasing  could  I  wish  to  see ; 

Your  laws  are  flourishing,  your  city  *  free. 

Far  other  paths  did  Medici  pursue, 

Far  less  beloved,  less  merciful  than  you. 

Moved  by  these  tales  of  misery  and  woe, 

More  of  her  conduct  should  you  seek  to  know ; 

I  will  myself  her  character  reveal. 

Nor  aught  exaggerate,  nor  aught  conceal. 

Many  have  tried,  but  few  could  e'er  impart 

The  secret  counsels  of  so  deep  a  heart. 

Full  twenty  years  within  the  palace  bred. 

Much  to  my  cost,  I  saw  the  tempests  spread. 

"  The  king,  expiring  in  the  bloom  of  life, 
Left  a  free  course  to  his  ambitious  wife. 
Form'd  by  her  cares'*  to  empire,  either  son 
Alike  she  hated,  when  he  reign'd  alone. 
Her  hands,  the  source  from  whence  confusion  flow'd, 
The  seeds  of  jealousy  and  discord  sow'd. ' 
Her  deep  designs,  no  wild  effect  of  chance. 
To  Conde  Guise^  opposed,  and  France  to  France. 


1  M.  de  Castelnau,  ambassador  from  France  to  Queen  Elizabetli,  tluis 
speaks  of  her : 

"  This  princess  had  all  the  great  qualities  requisite  for  reigning  happily. 
Her  reign  may  be  compared  with  that  of  Augustus,  when  the  temple  of 
Janus  was  closed,"  etc. 

2  Catherine  de  Medici  quarrelled  with  her  son  Charles  IX  near  the  close 
of  his  life,  and  afterwards  with  Henry  HI.  She  had  been  so  openly  dis- 
contented with  the  government  of  Francis  II,  that  she  was  suspected, 
though  unjustly,  of  having  hastened  the  death  of  this  king. 

3  In  The  Memoirs  of  the  League  may  be  found  a  letter  from  Catherine  de 
Medici  to  the  Prince  de  Conde,  wherein  she  thanks  him  for  having  taken 
up  arms  against  the  court. 


C8  'iiiK   ni:xuiAi)i;. 

By  turns  defending  enemies  and  friends, 

And  rivals  aiding  for  her  private  ends. 

False  to  lier  sect,'  and  superstition's  slave,*^ 

She  sought  each  pleasure^  which  ambition  gave. 

While  every  female  fault  enslaved  her  mind. 

Few  of  your  sex's  virtues  she  combined. 

Forgive  the  freedom  of  an  honest  heart ; 

You  reign,  a  stranger  to  your  sex's  art. 

August  Eliza,  blest  with  every  charm. 

That  thought  can  fancy,  or  that  heaven  can  form, 

To  win  affection,  or  to  guard  a  state. 

Lives  a  bright  pattern  to  the  good  and  great. 

With  love  and  wonder  all  your  deeds  are  seen, 

And  Europe  ranks  you  with  her  greatest  men. 

Francis  the  Second,  in  youth's  early  pride. 

Was  buried  by  his  hapless  father's  side. 

Guise  he  adored,  no  more  his  years  had  shown, 

Nor  vice,  nor  virtue  mark'd  him  for  their  own. 

Charles,  younger  still,  the  regal  name  obtain'd. 

But  fear  evinced ;  'twas  Medici  that  reign'd. 

She  sought  by  artful  policy  to  bring 

Perpetual  childhood  on  the  rising  king. 

A  hundred  battles  spoke  her  new  command, 

And  Discord's  flames  were  kindled  by  her  hand. 

Two  rival  parties  she  with  rage  inspired. 

Their  arms  directed,  and  their  bosoms  fired. 

Dreux''  first  beheld  their  banners  wave  in  air, 

1  When  she  thought  the  battle  of  Dreux  lost,  and  the  Protestants  victo- 
rious, she  exclaimed :  "Very  well,  we  will  worship  God  in  French." 

2  She  was  so  weak  as  to  believe  in  magic :  witness  the  talismans  found 
after  her  death. 

8  She  was  accused  of  having  had  amours  with  the  Yidame  of  Chartres, 
who  died  in  the  Bastile,  and  with  a  gentleman  of  Brittany,  named  Mos- 
couet. 

♦  The  battle  of  Dreux  was  the  first  pitched  battle  between  the  Catholic 
and  Protestant  parties.    It  took  place  in  1562. 


THE   HENKIADE.  69 

Ill-fated  theatre  of  horrid  war ! 
Old  Montmorency,'  near  the  royal  tomb, 
Met  from  a  warrior's  arm  a  warrior's  doom. 
Giiise,^  while  at  Orleans  pressing  hard  his  foe, 
Fell  'neath  a  stern  assassin's  mortal  blow. 
My  father,^  still  unwilling  slave  at  court, 

1  Anne  de  Montmorency,  a  headstrong  and  inflexible  man,  and  the  most 
unfortunate  general  of  his  time,  was  taken  prisoner  at  Pavia  and  at  Dreux, 
beaten  at  Saint-Quentin  by  Philip  II,  and,  at  last,  mortally  wounded  at  the 
battle  of  Saint-Denis,  by  an  Englishman  named  Stuart,  the  same  who  had 
taken  him  at  the  battle  of  Dreux. 

2  This  is  the  same  Francis  de  Guise  already  mentioned,  famous  for  the 
defence  of  Metz  against  Charles  V.  He  was  besieging  the  Protestants  in 
Orleans,  in  1563,  when  Poltrot  de  Mere,  a  gentleman  of  Angoumois,  killed 
him,  from  behind,  by  means  of  a  pistol  loaded  with  three  poisoned  balls. 
He  died  at  the  age  of  forty-four  years,  covered  with  glory,  and  regretted 
by  the  Catholics. 

3  Antoine.de  Bourbon,  king  of  Navarre,  father  of  the  most  intrepid  and 
firmest  of  all  men,  was  himself  the  most  feeble  and  the  most  vacillating. 
He  was  a  Huguenot,  and  his  wife  a  Catholic.  They  both  changed  their  re- 
ligion about  the  same  time. 

Jeane  d'Albret  was  afterwards  a  most  obstinate  Huguenot ;  but  Antoine 
wavered  so  much  in  his  Catholicity,  that  it  is  doubtful  in  what  religion  he 
died.  He  took  up  arms  against  the  Protestants,  whom  he  loved,  and 
served  Catherine  de  Medici,  whom  he  detested,  and  the  party  of  the 
Guises,  who  oppressed  him. 

He  expected  the  regency  after  the  death  of  Francis  II.  The  queen-moth- 
er sent  for  him.  "I  know,"  said  she  to  him,  "that  you  aspire  to  the 
government ;  I  wish  that  you  would  cede  it  to  me,  at  once,  by  an  instru- 
ment in  your  own  handwriting,  and  that  you  would  promise  to  surrender 
the  regency  to  me,  if  the  states  confer  it  upon  you."  Antoine  de  Bourbon 
gave  to  the  queen  the  writing  which  she  demanded,  and  thus  signed  his 
own  dishonor.  It  was  upon  this  occasion  that  de  Mesmes,  first  president, 
wrote  the  following  verses,  which  I  have  read  in  his  manuscript : 

"  Marc  Antony,  who  might  have  been 
The  greatest  lord  and  proudest  king, 

So  thoughtless  of  himself  became, 
That  to  a  queeni  he  bent  his  knee, 
Content  to  be  plain  Antony. 

The  Eoyal  Bourbon  did  the  same." 

After  the  conspiracy  of  Amboise,  a  great  number  of  gentlemen  came 
to  offer  their  services  and  their  lives  to  Antoine  de  Navarre ;  he  placed 


Cleopatra. 


70  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Was  fortune's  bubble,  and  the  queen's  support ; 
"Wrought  his  own  fate ;  in  battle  firmly  stood, 
And  died  for  those  who  thirsted  for  his  blood. 
Conde'  vouchsafed  a  parent's  aid  to  lend, 


himself  at  their  head ;  but  he  dismissed  them  soon  afterwards,  promising 
to  procure  their  pardon.  "  Think  of  obtaining  it  for  yourself,"  replied  an 
old  captain,  "  ours  is  at  the  point  of  our  swords." 

lie  died  at  the  age  of  forty-four  years,  from  an  arquebuse  wound  received 
in  the  left  shoulder,  at  the  siege  of  Kouen,  where  he  commanded.  His 
death  occurred  on  the  17th  of  November,  1562,  the  thirty-fifth  day  after 
his  wound.  The  incertitude  in  which  he  had  been  during  all  his  life, 
troubled  his  last  moments ;  and,  although  he  received  the  sacraments,  ac- 
cording to  the  usage  of  the  Koman  Church,  it  is  doubtfid  whether  he  did 
not  die  a  Protestant. 

M.  Jurieu  asserts  that  when  Louis,  prince  de  Cond6,  was  in  prison  at 
Orleans,  the  King  of  Navarre,  his  brother,  Avent  in  his  behalf  to  the  Cardi- 
nal do  Lorraine,  and  that  the  latter  received  him  seated  and  covered, 
■while  the  King  of  Navarre  stood  in  his  presence  bareheaded.  I  do  not 
know  where  M.  Jurieu  found  any  foundation  for  this  assertion. 

»  Louis  de  Conde,  brother  of  Antoine,  the  king  of  Navarre,  the  seventh 
and  last  of  the  children  of  Charles  de  Bourbon,  duke  do  Vendome,  was 
one  of  those  extraordinary  men  who  seem  born  for  the  misfortune  and 
glory  of  their  country,  lie  was,  for  a  long  time,  the  chief  of  the  Eeform- 
ers,  and  fell,  as  all  know,  at  Jarnac.  lie  had  one  of  his  arms  in  a  sling 
when  he  went  into  the  battle.  As  he  was  marching  against  the  enemy, 
the  horse  of  the  Count  de  la  Eochefoucauld,  his  brother-in-law,  gave  him 
a  kick  which  broke  his  leg.  Without  deigning  to  complain,  he  said  to  the 
gentlemen  around  him:  "Learn  that  fiery  horses  are  more  dangerous 
than  useful  in  an  army."  An  instant  afterwards,  he  said  to  them,  with  an 
arm  in  a  sling,  and  a  broken  leg :  "  The  Prince  de  Conde  does  i.ot  fear  to 
give  battle,  when  you  follow  him,"  and  charged  immediately  upon  the 
enemy. 

Brantome  says  that,  after  the  prince  had  been  taken  prisoner  in  this  bat- 
tle, a  very  biave  and  very  civil  gentleman,  named  Montesquieu,  rode  up 
to  him,  and  having  asked  who  he  was,  and  being  told  that  he  was  the 
Prince  de  Conde,  cried  out:  "Die!  die!"  and  immediately  shot  him 
through  the  head  with  a  pistol.  Montesquiou  was  a  captain  in  the  guards 
of  the  Duke  d'Anjou,  afterwards  Henry  III.  The  Count  de  Soissons, 
youngest  son  of  the  Prince  de  Condd,  looked  everywhere  for  Montesquiou 
and  his  relatives,  in  order  to  sacrifice  them  to  his  vengeance. 

Henry  IV  was  at  the  battle  of  Jarnac,  and,  although  only  fourteen  years 
old,  observed  the  mistakes  which  resulted  in  its  loss  to  the  Protestants. 

The  Prince  de  Conde  was  hunchbacked  and  small,  nevertheless  he  was 
very  amusing,  witty,  gallant,  and  loved  by  the  women.  The  following 
lines  were  written  upon  liim  : 


TUP]    IIENRIADE.  71 

My  surest  guardian,  and  my  truest  friend. 
Nursed  in  his  camp,  beneath  the  laurel's  shade, 
Amid  surrounding  heroes  was  I  bred. 
Like  him,  disdaining  indolence  and  sloth, 
Arms  were  the  only  playthings  of  my  youth. 
O  plains  of  Jarnac  !  O  unhappy  day. 
That  took  my  guardian  and  my  friend  away  ! 
Conde,  whose  kind  protection  I  enjoy 'd, 


"This  little  man  so  full  of  wiles, 
Who  always  chats  and  always  smiles, 
Who'll  kiss  his  lady  when  he  can  ; 
God  keep  from  harm  this  little  man  !" 

The  Marslial  de  Saint- Andre  ruined  himself  for  him,  and  gave  him, 
among  other  presents,  the  hands  of  Vallery,  which  have  since  become  the 
burial-place  of  the  princes  of  the  house  of  Conde. 

Never  was  general  more  beloved  by  his  soldiers.  An  astonishing  exam- 
ple of  this  love  was  seen  at  Pont-a-Mousson.  lie  was  in  want  of  money  for 
his  troops,  especially  for  the  Germans  who  had  come  to  his  relief,  and 
who  threatened  to  abandon  him.  He  dared  to  propose  to  his  own  soldiers 
whom  he  could  not  pay,  that  they  should  pay  the  auxiliary  army  ;  and, 
what  could  never  happen  except  in  a  religious  war,  and  under  such  a  gen- 
eral as  himself,  all  his  troops  assessed  themselves,  even  to  the  smallest  sol- 
dier-boy. 

He  was  condemned,  at  Orleans,  under  Fi-ancis  II,  to  lose  his  head  ;  but 
it  is  not  certain  that  the  sentence  was  signed.  France  was  astonished  to 
see  a  peer,  and  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood,  who  could  be  judged  only  by 
the  court  of  peers,  obliged  to  answer  before  Commissioners ;  but  what 
seemed  most  astonishing  was,  that  these  Commissioners  were  taken  from 
the  members  of  the  parliament.  They  were  Christophe  de  Thou,  after- 
wards first  president,  and  father  of  the  historian ;  Barthelemi  Faye, 
Jacques  Viole,  counsellors ;  Bourdin,  attorney-general,  and  Du  Tillet, 
register ;  all  of  whom,  in  accepting  this  commission,  forfeited  their  privi- 
leges, and  deprived  themselves  thereby  of  the  liberty  of  claiming  their 
rights,  if  ever  they  were  cited  before  other  than  their  legitimate  judges. 
It  is  pretended  that  Madame  Eenee  de  France,  daughter  of  Louis  XII,  and 
the  Duchess  de  Ferrara,  who  arrived  in  France  about  this  time,  contributed 
not  a  little  to  hinder  the  execution  of  their  sentence. 

We  must  not  omit  an  artifice  made  use  of  to  destroy  this  prince  who 
was  called  Louis.  Ilis  enemies  caused  a  medal  to  be  struck  which  repre- 
sented him ;  it  bore  the  following  legend  :  "  lymls  XIII,  king  of  France.'''' 
They  contrived  to  have  it  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Constable  Montmo- 
rency, who,  in  a  violent  rage,  showed  it  to  the  king,  persuaded  that  the 
Prince  de  Conde  had  ordered  it  to  be  struck.  This  medal  is  spoken  of  in 
Bran'-''rr'.e  and  in  Vigneul  de  Marville. 


72  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Thy  murdering  hand,  O  Montesquiou !  destroyed : 

Too  young  to  stay,  I  saw  the  fatal  blow. 

Nor  could  I  wreak  my  vengeance  on  the  foe. 

Young  and  untaught,  exposed  to  every  ill. 

Heaven  found  a  hero  to  protect  me  still ; 

Great  Conde  first  my  steps  to  glory  train'd. 

Next,  my  good  cause,  Coligni's^  arm  sustain'd : 

Coligni,  gracious  queen  !  if  Europe  see 

A  virtue  worthy  her  regard  in  me. 

If  Rome  herself  confess  my  youthful  days 

Not  unrcnown'd,  Coligni's  be  the  praise. 

Early  I  Icarn'd  beneath  his  eye  to  bear 

A  soldier's  hardships  in  the  school  of  war ; 

His  great  example  my  ambition  fired ; 

His  counsel  form'd  me,  and  his  deeds  inspired. 

I  saw  him  gray  in  arms,  yet  undismay'd, 

»  Gaspard  de  Coligni,  admiral  of  France,  son  of  Gaspard  de  Coligni, 
marshal  of  France,  and  of  Louise  de  Montmorency,  sister  of  the  constable, 
was  born  at  Chatillon,  February,  16,  1516.  After  tlie  death  of  Conde,  he 
was  declared  leader  of  the  party  of  the  Eeformers  in  France.  Catherine 
de  Medici  and  Charles  IX  contrived  to  draw  him  to  the  court,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Henry  IV  and  Marguerite  de  Valois,  sister  of 
Charles  IX  and  Henry  HI.  He  was  of  the  number  of  those  who  perished 
at  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  which  was  aimed  chiefly  against  this 
great  man. 

Some  have  reproached  the  author  of  The  Henriade  for  having  selected  as 
his  hero,  in  this  Second  Canto,  a  Huguenot,  who  had  revolted  against  his 
king,  and  who  was  publicly  accused  of  the  assassination  of  Francis  de 
Guise.  This  commendable  criticism  is  founded  on  the  obedience  due  to  a 
sovereign,  which  ought  to  form  the  chief  characteristic  of  a  French  hero  ; 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that  it  is  here  Henry  IV  who  is  speaking.  He 
had  made  his  first  campaigns  under  the  admiral,  who  filled  the  place  of 
a  father  to  liim.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  respect  him,  and  should  not, 
and  could  not,  suspect  him  of  any  action  unworthy  of  a  great  man,  espe- 
cially after  the  public  justification  of  Coligni,  which  could  not  appear  doubt- 
ful to  the  King  of  Navarre. 

As  to  the  revolt,  it  was  impossible  for  this  prince  to  regard,  as  a  crime  in 
the  admiral,  his  union  with  the  house  of  Bourbon  against  the  Lorrains  and 
an  Italian  woman.  As  to  religion,  they  were  both  Protestants ;  and  the 
Huguenots,  of  whom  Henry  IV  was  the  leader,  regarded  the  admiral  as  a 
martyr. 


THE    IIENEIADPJ.  iO 

The  general  cause  depending  on  his  aid. 
Dear  to  his  friends,  respected  by  the  foe, 
Firm  in  all  states,  majestic,  though  in  woe ; 
Expert  alike  in  battle  and  retreat. 
More  glorious,  e'en  more  awful  in  defeat, 
Than  Gaston  or  than  Dunois  in  the  pride 
Of  war,  with  prospering  fortune  at  their  side. 

"  Ten  years  elapsed  of  battles  lost  and  won ; 
Still  on  the  field  our  well-arm'd  legions  shone. 
AVith  grief  the  queen  her  barren  trophies  view'd,        ' 
Our  troops  observed,  though  vanquish'd,  unsubdued, 
And,  at  one  stroke,  one  fatal  stroke,  ordain'd,  ; 

To  sweep  the  civil  fury  from  the  land.  i 

Sudden  new  counsels  in  her  court  prevail'd. 
And  peace  was  offer'd,  when  the  sword  had  fail'd. 
Peace !  be  thou  witness,  heaven's  avenging  power ! 
That  treacherous  olive,  hoAV  it  blush'd  with  gore ; 
Gods !  is  it  then  so  hard  a  task  to  stray. 
And  shall  their  monarchs  teach  mankind  the  way  ? 

"  True  to  his  sovereign,  still  devoutly  true. 
Though  he  opposed  her,  to  his  country  too, 
Coligni  seized  the  happy  hour  to  heal 
Her  bleeding  interests,  with  a  patriot's  zeal. 
Undaunted  through  surrounding  foes  he  press'd 
(Suspicions  seldom  haunt  a  hero's  breast), 
Nor  staid,  till  in  her  own  august  abode. 
Full  in  the  midst  before;  the  queen  he  stood. 
With  circling  arms  and  flowing  tears  she  strove 
To  lavish  o'er  me  e'en  a  mother's  love. 
Coligni's  friendship  was  her  dearest  choice — 
Still  to  be  ruled  by  his  unerring  voice ; 
Wealth,  power,  and  honor  at  his  feet  she  laid, 
4 


74  TIIK  HKNlilADK. 

Her  son's  indulgence  to  our  hopes  display'd  : 
Vain  flattering  hopes,  alas !  and  quickly  fled. 
All  were  not  blinded  by  this  specious  show 
Of  cordial  grace  and  bounty  from  the  foe. 
But  Charles,  still  anxious  to  insure  success. 
More  bounteous  seem'd,  as  they  believed  him  less. 
Train'd  up  in  falsehood  from  his  earliest  youth, 
He  held  eternal  enmity  with  truth ; 
From  infant  years  had  treasured  in  his  heart 
The  poisonous  precepts  of  his  mother's  art ; 
And  fierce  by  nature,  merciless  and  proud, 
With  ease  was  ripen'd  to  the  work  of  blood. 
More  deeply  still  to  veil  the  dark  design. 
By  nuptial  bands  he  made  his  sister  mine.' 
Oh,  bands  accurst,  and  Hymen's  rites  profaned. 
By  heaven,  in  anger  for  our  curse,  ordain'd. 
Whose  baleful  torch,  dire  omen  of  our  doom. 
Blazed  but  to  lead  me  to  a  mother's  tomb. 
Though  I  have  sufFer'd,  let  me  still  be  just,"^ 
Nor  blame  thee,  Medici,  but  where  I  must : 

>  Marguerite  de  Valois,  sister  of  Charles  IX,  was  married  to  Henry  IV, 
in  1572,  a  few  days  before  the  massacres. 

2  Jeanne  d'Albret,  attracted  to  Paris  with  the  other  Hugnenots,  died  after 
a  sickness  of  five  days.  The  time  of  her  death,  the  massacres  which  fol- 
lowed it,  the  fear  that  her  courage  would  have  given  to  the  court,  in  short, 
her  sickness,  which  commenced  after  having  purchased  some  gloves  and 
some  perfumed  collars  of  a  perfumer  named  Ken6,  who  had  come  from 
Florence  with  the  queen,  and  who  passed  for  a  public  poisoner ;  all  these 
created  the  suspicion  that  she  died  of  poison.  It  is  even  said  that  this 
Ken6  boasted  of  his  crime,  and  dared  to  say  that  he  did  as  much  for  two 
great  lords  who  did  not  suspect  him.  M^zeray,  in  his  history,  seems  to 
favor  this  opinion,  by  saying  that  the  silrgeons  who  opened  the  body  of 
the  queen,  did  not  touch  the  head,  where  they  suspected  that  the  poison 
had  left  some  visible  traces.  These  suspicions  are  not  placed  in  the  mouth 
of  Henry  IV,  because  it  is  necessary  to  guard  against  the  idea  that  the  great 
never  die  by  natural  causes.  The  people,  without  consideration,  always 
regard,  as  guilty  of  the  death  of  a  prince,  those  to  whom  this  death  may  be 
useful.  The  liberty  to  entertain  these  suspicions  was  so  far  indulged  as  to 
accuse  Catherine  de  Medici  of  the  death  of  her  own  children ;  although 


THE   HENKIADE.  75 

Suspicions,  tliougli  on  reason  firmly  built, 
I  scorn,  nor  need  tliem  to  enhance  thy  guilt. 
My  mother  died — forgive  these  tears  I  shed, 
Due  to  the  fond  remembrance  of  the  dead. 
Meanwhile  the  dreadful  hour  in  swift  career, 
Big  with  the  queen's  vindictive  wrath,  drew  near. 

"Night's  robe  was  scarcely  thrown  o'er  earth  and  heaven. 
When  silently  the  appointed  sign  was  given. 

there  never  was  any  proof  that  these  children,  or  that  Jeanne  d' Albret,  died 
by  poisoning. 

It  is  not  true,  as  Mezeray  pretends,  that  the  head  of  the  Queen  of  Na- 
varre was  not  opened.  She  reeommended  expressly  that  this  part  should" 
be  examined  after  her  death.  She  had  been  tormented  all  her  life  with 
great  pains  in  her  head,  accompanied  by  itchings,  and  ordered  that  the 
cause  of  it  should  be  carefully  sought  out,  foK  the  benefit  of  her  children, 
in  case  they  should  be  similarly  attacked.  The  Chronologie  N&vennaire 
reports  formally  that  Caillard,  her  physician,  and  Desnoeuds,  her  surgeon, 
dissected  her  brain  and  found  it  very  healthy  ;  that  they  perceived  only  a 
few  drops  of  water  lodged  between  the  skull  and  the  pxiUicle  which  en- 
veloped the  brain ;  and  which  they  judged  to  be  the  cause  of  the  headache 
of  which  she  had  complained.  They  certified,  moreover,  that  she  had  died 
of  an  abscess  formed  in  the  breast.  It  must  be  observed  that  those  Avho 
opened  her  wore  Huguenots ;  and  that  it  is  probable  they  would  have 
spoken  of  poison  if  they  had  found  any  thing  like  it.  It  may  be  replied 
that  they  were  bribed  by  the  court;  but  Desnoeuds,  the  surgeon  of  Jeanne 
d' Albret,  a  violent  Huguenot,  afterwards  wrote  libels  against  the  court, 
which  he  would  not  have  done  had  he  been  sold  to  it ;  and  in  these  libels 
he  did  not  say  that  Jeanne  d' Albret  had  been  poisoned.  Besides,  it  is 
incredible  that  a  woman  as  cunning  as  Catherine  de  Medici  would  have 
given  such  a  commission  to  a  miserable  perfumer,  who  had,  as  they  say, 
the  insolence  to  boast  of  it. 

Jeanne  d' Albret  was  born,  in  1530,  of  Henry  d' Albret,  king  of  Navarre, 
and  of  Marguerite  de  Valois,  sister  of  Francis  I.  At  the  age  of  twelve 
years,  Jeanne  was  married  to  William,  Duke  de  Cleves,  with  whom  she 
never  lived.  Two  years  after,  the  marriage  was  declared  void  by  Pope 
Paul  III,  and  she  then  married  Antoine  de  Bourbon.  This  second  mar- 
riage, contracted  during  the  life  of  the  first  husband,  gave  occasion  to  the 
preachers  of  the  League  for  saying  publicly,  in  their  sermons  against  Hen- 
ry IV,  that  he  was  a  bastard.  But  what  was  most  strange  was,  that  the 
Guises,  and  among  others  this  Francis  de  Guise,  said  to  have  been  so  reli- 
gious a  man,  took  advantage  of  the  feebleness  of  Antoine  de  Bourbon 
to  persuade  him  to  repudiate  his  wife,  by  whom  he  had  children,  in  order 
that  he  might  marry  their  niece,  and  devote  himself  entirely  to  their  cause-. 


<0  TIIK  UENRIADE. 

The  moon,'  pale  regent,  falter'd  on  her  way, 

And,  sickening,  seein'd  to  hide  her  feeble  ray. 

Coligni  slept,  and  largely  o'er  his  head 

The  drowsy  power  had  now  his  influence  shed ; 

Sudden,  unnumber'd  shrieks  dispell'd  the  charm ; 

His  rallying  senses  felt  the  dread  alarm ; 

He  waked,  look'd  forth,  and  saw  the  assassin  throng 

With  murderous  strides  march  hastily  along ; 

Saw  on  their  arms  the  quivering  torch-light  play, 

His  palace  fired,  a  nation  in  dismay. 

His  bleeding  household  stifled  in  the  flames. 

While  all  the  savage  host  around  exclaims  : 

'  Let  no  compassion  check  your  righteous  hands, 

'Tis  God,  'tis  Medici,  'tis  Charles  commands.' 

Now  his  own  namj  shrill  echoing,  rends  the  skies, 

And  now  far  off  Teligni  ^  he  descries — 

Teligni,  famed  for  every  virtuous  grace, 

AVhose  truth  had  earn'd  his  daughter's  chaste  embrace, 

Hope  of  his  cause,  and  honor  of  his  race. 

The  bleeding  youth  by  ruffians'  force  convcy'd, 

With  outstretch'd  arms  demands  his  instant  aid. 

Helpless,  unarm'd,  he  saw  his  fate  decreed. 

The  King  of  Navarre  barely  escaped  this  snare.  Jeanne  d'Albret  died, 
June  9, 1572,  at  the  age  of  forty-two  years. 

M.  Bayle,  in  his  Heplies  to  the  Questions  of  a  Provincial,  says  that,  during 
his  time,  there  was,  in  Holland,  the  son  of  a  minister,  named  Goyon,  who 
passed  for  the  grandson  of  this  queen.  It  is  pretended,  that  after  the  death 
of  Antoine  de  Navarre,  she  married  a  gentleman  named  Goyon,  by  whom 
she  had  this  minister. 

1  It  was  on  the  night  of  the  23d  of  August,  the  feast  of  Saint  Bartholo- 
mew, in  1572,  that  this  bloody  tragedy  took  place. 

The  admiral  was  lodged  in  the  Eue  Betizy,  in  the  house  now  occupied 
as  an  inn,  known  as  the  Hotel  Saint-Pierre,  where  his  chamber  is  still 
shown. 

"  The  Count  de  Teligni  had  married  the  admiral's  daughter  ten  months 
before.  He  had  a  countenance  so  remarkably  pleasant,  that  the  first  who 
came  to  kill  him  were  unable  to  perform  their  task ;  but  others,  more  bar- 
barous, massacred  him. 


THE    HENEIADE.  77 

Saw  that  his  blood  must  unrevenged  be  shed ; 
Yet  bravely  anxious  for  renown  achieved, 
Wish'd  but  to  die  the  hero  he  had  lived. 

"  Already  the  tumultuous  band  explore 
His  own  recess,  and  thunder  at  the  door. 
Instant  he  flings  it  wide,  and  meets  the  foe 
With  eye  untroubled,  and  majestic  brow — 
Such  as  in  battle,  when  with  steady  breast 
He  urged  the  slaughter,  or  his  troops  rcpress'd. 

"  Awful  and  sage  he  stood  ;  his  gracious  form 
Quell'd  the  loud  tumult,  and  controll'd  the  storm. 
'  Finish,  my  friends,  your  fatal  task,'  he  said ; 
'  Bathe  in  my  freezing  blood  this  hoary  head — 
These  locks,  which  yet,  full  many  a  boisterous  year, 
E'en  the  rough  chance  of  war,  has  deign'd  to  spare. 
Strike,  and  strike  deep ;  be  satisfied,  and  know 
With  my  last  breath  1  can  forgive  the  blow  ! 
The  mean  desire  of  life  my  soul  abjures — 
Yet  happier !  might  I  die  defending  yours.' 

"  The  savage  band  grown  human  at  his  words, 
Clasping  his  knees,  let  fall  their  idle  swords ; 
Prone  on  the  ground  his  pardoning  grace  implore, 
And  at  his  feet  repentant  sorrows  pour ; 
He  in  the  midst,  like  some  loved  monarch,  rose. 
Theme  of  his  subjects'  pride,  and  idol  of  their  vows. 

"  Now  Besme,'  impatient  for  his  destined  prey, 
Rush'd  headlong  in,  enraged  at  their  delay. 

1  Besme  was  a  German,  a  domestic  of  the  house  of  Guise.  This  miser- 
able wretch  being  afterwards  taken  by  the  Protestants,  the  people  of  Eo- 
ehelle  bought  him,  in  order  to  tear  him  to  pieces  on  their  public  square. 


78  THE  HENRIADE. 

Furious,  he  saw  the  deed  unfinish  d  yet, 

And  each  assassin  trembling  at  his  feet. 

No  change  in  him  this  scene  of  sorrow  wrought; 

Hard  and  unfeeling  still,  the  caitiff  thought 

Whoe'er  relented  at  Coligni's  fate, 

Was  the  queen's  foe,  a  rebel  to  the  state. 

Now  through  the  crowd  he  makes  impetuous  way ; 

Firm  stands  the  chief,  unconscious  of  dismay ; 

Deep  in  his  side  the  fierce  barbarian  struck 

The  fatal  steel,  but  with  averted  look, 

Lest  at  a  glance  that  eye's  resistless  charm 

Should  freeze  his  purpose,  and  unnerve  his  arm. 

Such  was  the  brave  Coligni's  mournful  end ; 

Affront '  and  outrage  e'en  his  death  attend. 

They  proposed,  subsequently,  to  exchange  him  for  the  hrave  Montbrun, 
leader  of  the  Protestants  of  Dauphind,  then  on  trial  before  the  parliament 
of  Grenoble.  Montbrun  was  executed,  and  Besme  was  then  killed  by  a 
man  named  Bretanville. 

»  It  is  impossible  to  ascertain  whether,  or  not,  Catherine  de  Medici  sent 
the  head  of  the  Admiral  to  Eomc,  as  the  Protestants  assert.  But  it  is  cer- 
tain that  his  head  was  carried  to  the  queen,  with  a  box  full  of  papers, 
among  which  was  a  history  of  the  times,  in  the  handwriting  of  Coligni.  In 
this  box  were  also  found  several  papers  on  public  affairs.  The  object  of  one 
of  these  documents  was  to  engage  Charles  to  make  war  against  the  Eng- 
lish. Charles  IX  caused  this  paper  to  be  read  to  the  English  ambassador, 
who  was  complaining  to  him  of  the  treachery  towards  the  Protestants,  and 
who  but  despised  the  more  the  policy  of  the  French  court.  Another  paper 
showed  the  dangers  to  which  the  king  would  expose  the  tranquillity  of  the 
realm  if  he  should  give  an  estate  to  his  brother,  the  Duke  d' Alenqon.  This 
was  shown  to  the  young  prince,  who  was  regretting  the  admiral.  "I  do 
not  know,"  replied  he,  after  reading  it,  "  whether  this  paper  is  written  by 
one  of  my  friends,  but  it  is  surely  written  by  a  faithful  subject." — K. 

The  populace  dragged  the  body  of  the  admiral  through  the  streets,  and 
hung  it  by  the  feet  in  chains  on  the  gibbet  of  Montfaucon.  The  king  had 
the  cruelty  to  go  with  his  court  to  Montfaucon  to  enjoy  this  horrible  spec- 
tacle. Some  one  having  remarked  that  the  body  of  the  admiral  smelt  bad, 
he  replied,  like  Vitellius :  "  The  body  of  a  dead  enemy  always  smells  good." 

He  went  to  the  parliament  to  accuse  the  admiral  of  a  conspiracy,  and 
the  parliament  rendered  a  judgment  against  the  deceased;  it  was  ordered 
that  his  body,  after  having  been  dragged  iipon  a  hurdle,  should  be  hung 
upon  a  gallows ;  his  children  were  declared  not  noble,  and  incapable  of  hold- 
ing any  office  ;  his  house  of  Chatillon-sur-Loing  was  razed  to  the  ground. 


THE    HENRIADE.  79 

The  ravcnino-  hawk  and  vulture  hover  round 

o 

His  mangled  limbs,  still  festering  on  the  ground. 
At  the  queen's  feet  his  sacred  head  is  thrown, 
A  conquest  w^orthy  both  herself  and  son. 
With  brow  unalter'd  and  serene  she  sate ; 
Nor  seem'd  to  enjoy  the  triumph  of  her  hate; 
To  veil  her  secret  thoughts  so  well  she  knew, 
And  so  familiar  horrors  to  her  view. 

"  Vain  were  the  task,  and  endless,  to  recite 
Each  horrid  scene  of  that  disastrous  night ; 
Coligni's  death  but  served,  alas,  too  well. 
Our  future  woes,  our  struggles  to  foretell. 
Legions  of  bigots,  flush'd  with  fiery  zeal 
And  frantic  ardor,  shake  the  murdering  steel ; 
Proudly  they  march  where  heaps  of  slaughter  rise, 
Unsated  vengeance  sparkling  in  their  eyes. 
Guise,'  in  the  van,  full  many  a  victim  paid, 


the  trees  cut  down,  etc. ;  and  it  was  decreed  that,  every  year,  a  procession 
should  be  formed  on  Saint  Bartholomew's  Day,  to  thank  God  for  discover- 
ing the  conspiracy, — a  conspiracy  of  which  the  admiral  never  dreamed. 
In  spite  of  this  sentence,  the  daughter  of  the  admiral,  Teligni's  widow, 
married,  some  time  after,  the  Prince  of  Orange. 

The  parliament  had,  a  few  years  before,  put  the  price  of  fifty  thousand 
crowns  upon  his  head  ;  it  is  singular  enough  that  this  is  precisely  the  same 
price  that  was  afterwards  put  upon  that  of  cardinal  Mazarin.  The  genius 
of  the  French  is  to  turn  the  most  frightful  events  into  ridicule  ;  to  this  dis- 
position are  we  indebted  for  a  paper  entitled  Passio  Domini  twstt'i  Gas- 
pard'i  Coligni^  secundam  Bartholomo&um. 

Mezeray  makes  an  assertion  in  his  great  history,  which  we  may  be  per- 
mitted to  doubt.  He  says  that,  some  years  before,  Michel  Crellet,  guar- 
dian of  the  Franciscans  of  Saintes,  who  was  condemned  by  the  admiral  to 
be  hung,  predicted  to  him  that  he  should  die  by  assassination,  should  be 
thrown  out  of  his  window,  and  afterwards  hung. 

Not  long  since,  an  officer  of  finance  having  purchased  a  piece  of  land 
which  had  belonged  to  the  Colignis,  found  thereupon,  a  few  feet  under 
ground,  an  iron  chest  full  of  papers,  which  he  threw  into  the  fire,  because, 
as  he  believed,  they  would  never  produce  him  any  revenue. 

1  This  was  Henry,  duke  de  Guise,  surnamed  the  Balafre,  who  afterwards 


so  THE   HENRIADE. 

Indignant,  to  his  father's  injured  shade ; 
Nevers/  Gondi,''  and  Tavanne^  shout  aloud, 
And  chafe  to  madness  the  deluded  crowd ; 
Long  registers  of  deaths  foredoom'd  display, 
And  guide  the  poniard  to  its  destined  prey. 

"  The  tumult  I  omit,  the  deaf 'ning  screams. 
The  blood  that  flow'd  in  deep  and  widening  streams ; 
The  son  and  father  murder'd  by  one  blade. 
The  brother,  sister,  daughter,  mother  laid 
Together  in  death's  ever  deepening  shade ; 
The  flames  that  crept  along  the  mouldering  wall. 
Therewith  to  crush  the  cradle  in  its  fall. 
Events  like  these  we  view  with  less  surprise. 
For  still  they  mark  the  track  where  human  frenzy  flies. 
But  stranger  far,  what  few  will  e'er  believe ' 
In  future  ages,  or  yourself  conceive, 
The  barbarous  rout,  whose  hearts  with  added  fire, 
Those  holy  butchers  maddcn'd  priests  inspire ; 
E'en  from  the  carnage  call  upon  the  Lord, 
And  waving  high  in  air  the  reeking  sword, 

became  famous  for  the  part  he  took  in  the  battle  of  the  Barricades,  and 
who  was  slain  at  Blois.  He  was  the  son  of  Duke  Francis,  who  was  assas- 
sinated by  Poltrot. 

»  Frederic  de  Gonzague,  of  the  house  of  Mantua,  duke  de  Ncvers,  one 
of  the  authors  of  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew. 

3  Albert  de  Gondi,  marshal  de  Eetz,  a  favorite  of  Catherine  de  Medici. 
It  was  he  who  taught  Charles  IX  to  blaspheme  and  deny  God,  as  was  said 
in  those  times. — K. 

3  Gaspard  de  Tavannes,  who  was  brought  up  as  a  page  of  Francis  I.  He 
ran  about  the  streets  on  the  night  of  Saint  Bartholomew  crying :  "  Blood ! 
blood  !  blood-letting  is  as  good  in  the  month  of  August  as  in  the  month 
of  May."  His  son,  who  wrote  his  memoirs,  relates  that  his  father  being 
upon  his  death-bed,  made  a  general  confession  of  his  life,  and  that  his 
confessor  having  said  to  him,  with  an  air  of  astonishment :  "  What !  have 
you  nothing  to  say  of  Saint  Bartholomew's  Day?"  "  I  regard  it,"  replied 
the  marshal,  "as  a  meritorious  action,  which  ought  to  efface  my  other 
sins." 


THE    IIENEIADE.  81 

Offer  aloud  to  God  the  sacrifice  abhorr'd. 
AVhat  numerous  heroes  in  that  havoc  died  ! 
ResneP  and  brave  Pardaillan  by  his  side, 
Guerchy^  and  wise  Lavardin,  worthy  Avell 
A  longer  life  and  gentler  fortune,  fell. 
Among  the  wretched,  whom  that  night  of  woe 
Plunged  in  the  gloom  of  endless  night  below, 
Marsillac  and  Soubise^  mark'd  down  to  death, 
Defended  stoutly  their  devoted  breath. 
Until  with  labor  wearied  and  foredone. 
Close  to  the  Louvre's  gate  push'd  roughly  on. 
They  to  the  king  in  suppliant  accents  call. 
And  unregarded,  mid  their  murderers,  fall. 

"  High  on  the  roof  the  royal  fury  stood. 
At  leisure  feasting  on  the  scenes  of  blood. 
Her  cruel  minions  watch  the  gloomy  host. 
And  mark  the  spot  where  slaughter  rages  most. 
Brave  chiefs  !  triumphant  only  in  their  shame, 
They  saw  their  country  blaze,  and  gloried  in  the  flame. 

"  Oh,  scandal  to  the  name  of  king  revered  ! 

1  Antoiiie  de  Clermont-Eesnel,  escaping  in  liis  sliirt,  was  slain  by  the 
Kon  of  the  Baron  cles  Adrets,  and  by  his  own  cousin,  Bussy  d'Amboise. 
The  Marquis  de  Pardaillan  was  killed  by  his  side. 

2  Guerchy  defended  himself  a  long  time  in  the  street,  and  killed  several 
of  his  assailants,  before  being  overwhelmed  by  numbers  ;  but  the  Marquis 
de  Lavardin  had  not  time  to  draw  his  sword. 

3  Marsillac,  count  de  la  Kochefoucauld,  was  a  favorite  of  Charles  IX, 
and  had  passed  a  part  of  the  night  with  the  king,  who  desired  to  save  his 
life,  and  even  asked  him  to  sleep  in  the  Louvre,  but  finally  permitted  him 
to  go,  saying  :  "  I  see  that  God  determines  that  he  shall  perish." 

Soubise  bore  this  name,  because  he  had  espoused  the  heir  of  the  house 
of  Soubise.  His  own  name  was  Dupont-Quellenec.  He  defended  himself 
a  long  time,  and  fell  covered  with  wounds  under  the  window  of  the  queen. 
As  his  wife  had  applied  for  a  divorce  from  him  on  account  of  impotency, 
the  ladies  of  the  royal  household  ran  out  to  examine  his  naked  and  bloody 
body,  through  a  barbarous  curiosity  worthy  of  that  abominable  court. 

40 


02  THE   IIENEIADE. 

Himself,'  the  monarch,  joins  the  felon  herd  ; 
Himself  the  trembling  fugitives  pursues. 
And  e'en  his  sacred  hands  in  blood  imbrues. 
This  Valois,  too,  whose  cause  I  now  support,' 
Who  comes,  by  me,  a  suppliant  to  your  court. 
Shared  in  his  brother's  guilt  an  impious  part. 
And  roused  the  flame  of  vengeance  in  his  heart ; 
Nor  yet  is  Valois  fierce,  of  savage  mood. 
Or  prone  by  nature  to  delight  in  blood  ; 
But  on  his  youth  those  dire  examples  wrought, 
Weakness  was  his ;  of  malice  he  had  naught. 

"  A  few  there  were  whom  vengeance  sought  in  vain, 

*  Observe  wliat  Brant6me  confesses,  without  any  hesitation,  in  his  me- 
moirs :  "  When  the  day  dawned,  the  king  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
of  his  chamber,  and  seeing  some  individuals  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main, hastening  to  make  their  escape,  he  took  a  large  arquebuse,  and 
though  too  far  to  reach,  fired  upon  them,  crying  out :  '  Kill  them !  kill 
them !' " 

Several  persons  have  heard  the  Marshal  de  Tesse  relate  that,  in  his 
youth,  he  met  with  a  gentleman  more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  who  had 
been  one  of  the  guards  of  Charles  IX.  He  interrogated  this  old  man  in 
regard  to  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  and  asked  him  whether 
it  was  true  that  the  king  had  fired  upon  the  Ilngucnots.  "  It  was  I,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  who  loaded  his  arquebuse." 

Henry  IV  said  publicly,  more  than  once,  that  after  the  massacre  of 
Saint  Bartholomew,  a  flock  of  crows  perched  upon  the  Louvre,  and  that, 
during  seven  nights,  the  king  himself,  and  all  the  court,  heard  groans  and 
frightful  cries  at  the  same  hour.  He  related  a  still  more  remarkable  prodi- 
gy :  he  said  that,  some  days  before  the  massacre,  while  playing  at  dice  Avith 
the  Duke  d'Alencjon  and  the  Duke  de  Guise,  he  saw  drops  of  blood  upon 
the  table ;  that  twice  he  wiped  them  off,  and  that  twice  they  reappeared, 
and  that,  seized  with  terror,  he  stopped  playing. 

a  In  the  Memoires  de  Villeroi  may  be  found  a  discourse  by  Henry  III,  on 
the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew's  Day,  wherein  this  prince  exculpates 
Charles  IX,  and  accuses  his  mother  and  himself.  Charles  IX,  according 
to  this  narrative,  was  led  into  this  affair  by  the  solicitations  of  his  mother 
and  his  brother,  who  confessed  to  him  that  the  assassination  of  Coligni 
was  committed  by  their  order,  and  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  him 
either  to  sacrifice  them  to  the  admiral,  or  to  order  the  massacre  of  the 
Protestants,  for  which  they  had  already  made  preparations.  Voltaire  could 
not  admit  this  narrative  without  rendering  Valois  too  odions. — K. 


THE   HENRIADE.  83 

Who  'scaped  unliurt  among  tlie  thousands  slain. 
Caumont!'  thy  fortune,  thy  auspicious  fate, 
Ages  unborn  with  wonder  shall  relate. 
The  hoary  sire  between  his  sons  reposed, 

1  Caumont,  who  escaped  the  massacre,  was  the  famous  Marshal  de  la 
Force,  who  afterwards  gained  so  great  a  reputation,  and  who  lived  to  the 
age  of  eighty  years.  He  left  memoirs  which  have  not  been  printed,  and 
which  must  be  still  in  the  family  of  la  Force. 

Mezeray,  in  his  great  history,  says  that  young  Caumont,  his  father,  and 
his  brother,  were  sleeping  in  the  same  bed ;  tiiat  his  father  and  brother 
were  massacred,  and  that  he  escaped  by  a  miracle,  etc.  It  is  upon  the  faith 
of  this  historian  that  I  have  put  this  adventure  in  verse. 

The  circumstances  upon  which  Mezeray  supports  his  narrative,  did  not 
permit  me  to  doubt  the  truth  of  what  he  relates  ;  but  the  Duke  de  la  Force 
has  since  shown  me  the  manuscript  memoirs  of  this  same  Marshal  de 
la  Force,  written  in  his  own  hand.  The  marshal  there  relates  his  adventure 
in  a  manner  calculated  to  shake  our  faith  in  historians. 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  curious  particulars  which  the  Mar- 
shal de  la  Force  relates  of  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew  : 

Two  days  before  the  massacre,  the  king  had  ordered  the  parliament  to 
release  an  officer  who  was  a  prisoner  in  the  Conciergerie.  The  parliament 
having  done  nojbhing  in  the  matter,  the  king  sent  some  of  his  guards  to 
force  the  doors  of  the  prison,  and  to  set  the  prisoner  at  liberty.  The  next 
day,  the  parliament  remonstrated  with  the  king,  all  the  members  of  it 
placing  their  arms  in  slings,  to  show  him  that  he  had  crippled  justice. 
This  circumstance  made  a  great  deal  of  noise  ;  and  at  the  commencement 
of  the  massacre,  the  Huguenots  were  persuaded  that  the  tumult  which 
they  heard  arose  from  a  sedition  excited  among  the  people,  on  account  of 
the  affair  with  pai'liament. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  horse-dealer,  who  had  seen  the  Duke  de  Guise,  with 
his  satellites,  enter  the  house  of  the  Admiral  de  Coligni,  and  who,  slipping 
into  the  crowd,  had  witnessed  the  assassination  of  this  nobleman,  ran  im- 
mediately to  warn  the  Sieur  de  Caumont  de  la  Force,  to  whom  he  had  sold 
ten  horses,  a  week  before. 

La  Force  and  his  two  sons,  as  well  as  several  Calyinists,  were  lodging  in 
the  faubourg  Saint- Germain.  There  was,  at  this  time,  no  bridge  that  con- 
nected this  faubourg  with  the  city.  All  the  boats  had  been  seized,  by 
order  of  the  court,  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  the  assassins  to  the  fau- 
bourg. This  horse-dealer  thereupon  swam  the  river,  and  warned  M.  de  la 
Force  of  his  danger.  La  Force  had  already  left  his  house,  and  might  have 
saved  himself;  but  finding  that  his  children  did  not  come,  he  returned  in 
search  of  them.  Scarcely  had  he  entered  the  house  than  the  assassins  ar- 
rived. One  named  Martin,  who  was  at  their  head,  entered  his  chamber, 
disarmed  him  and  his  two  children,  and  told  them  to  prepare  to  die.  La 
Force  offered  him  a  ransom  of  two  thousand  crowns,  which  he  accepted. 
La  Force  swore  that  he  would  pay  it  within  two  days  ;  and  immediately 


84  THE  HENRIADE. 

His  aged  eyes  in  needful  slumber  closed  ; 
One  bed  sufficed  them  all.     Now,  rushing  in, 
The  fell  destroyers  mar  the  peaceful  scene. 
"With  hasty  strokes  their  poniards  plunging  round, 


the  assassins,  after  having  pillaged  the  liouae,  told  him  and  his  children 
to  put  their  handkerchiefs  in  tlie  form  of  a  cross  upon  their  hats,  and  to 
roll  up  their  right  sleeves  to  the  shoulder :  this  was  the  mark  of  the  mur- 
derers. In  this  condition  they  were  taken  across  the  river  into  the  city. 
The  Marshal  do  la  Force  asserts  that  he  saw  the  river  covered  with  dead 
bodies.  His  father,  brother,  and  himself,  landed  opposite  to  the  Louvre  ; 
where  they  witnessed  the  murder  of  several  of  their  friends,  and,  among 
others,  the  brave  de  Piles,  father  of  him  who  killed  the  son  of  Malherbe 
in  a  duel.  Thence  Captain  Martin  took  his  prisoners  to  his  own  house 
in  the  Kue  des  Petits  Champs,  and  making  la  Force  swear  that  neither  he 
nor  his  children  would  go  out  before  paying  the  two  thousand  crowns,  he 
left  them  in  charge  of  two  Swiss  soldiers,  and  went  out  again  to  massacre 
other  Calvinists. 

One  of  the  Swiss  soldiers,  touched  with  compassion,  offered  to  save  the 
prisoners.  La  Force  would  not  consent,  saying  that  he  had  given  his 
word,  and  that  he  would  rather  die  than  break  it.  An  aunt  procured  for 
him  the  two  thousand  crowns,  and  the  money  was  about  to  be  delivered 
to  Captain  Martin,  when  the  Count  de  Coconas  (the  samq.who  was  subse- 
quently decapitated)  came  to  tell  la  Force  that  the  Duke  d'Anjou  wished 
to  speak  to  him.  Immediately  the  father  and  children  Avere  compelled  to 
leave  the  room  bareheaded,  and  without  their  cloaks.  La  Force  perceived 
that  they  were  leading  him  out  to  die.  He  followed  Coconas,  beseeching 
him  to  spare  his  two  innocent  children.  The  youngest,  aged  thirteen 
years,  who  was  named  Jacques  Nompar,  and  who  wrote  this  narrative,  re- 
proached the  murderers  with  their  crimes,  and  told  them  that  they  would 
be  punished  by  God.  Nevertheless,  the  two  children  were  led,  with  their 
father,  to  the  end  of  the  Rue  des  Petits  Champs,  where  a  poniard  was  first 
plunged  several  times  into  the  elder,  who  cried  out :  "  Ah,  my  God ! 
Ah,  my  God,  I  am  dead  !"  A  moment  after,  the  father  fell,  pierced  with 
many  wounds,  upon  the  body  of  his  son.  The  younger,  covered  by 
blood,  but,  by  a  miracle,  unharmed,  had  the  prudence  to  cry  out,  also : 
"  I  am  dead,"  and  to  fall  between  his  father  and  brother,  whose  last 
sighs  he  received.  The  murderers,  believing  thorn  all  dead,  went 
away,  saying  :  "All  three  are  well  disposed  of."  Some  wretched  beings 
came  afterwards  to  strip  the  bodies.  One  of  them,  a  tennis-marker, 
from  Verdelet,  perceiving  a  linen  stocking  upon  the  young  la  Force, 
determined  to  take  it,  and  in  drawing  it  off,  could  not  avoid  observing 
the  body  of  the  child.  "  Alas  !"  said  he,  "  what  a  pity  !  it  is  only  a  child  ; 
what  can  he  have  done  ?"  These  Avords  of  compassion  induced  the  young 
la  Force  to  raise  his  head  gently,  and  to  whisper  to  him  :  "  I  am  not  dead 
yet."  "  Do  not  stir,  my  child,"  replied  the  poor  man,  "  have  patience." 
In  the  evening,  he  returned,  and  said  to  him  :  "  Get  up,  there  is  no  one 


THE    HENEIADE.  85 

They  deal  a  random  death  at  every  wound. 
But  He,  whose  mercies  o'er  our  fate  preside, 
Can  waft  with  ease  the  threatening  hour  aside  : 
Through  very  zeal  to  slay,  the  son  they  spare, 
And  not  a  blow  does  youthful  Caumont  share. 
A  hand  unseen  is  stretch'd  in  his  defence. 
To  screen  from  harm  his  infant  innocence ; 
The  father's  body  on  the  son  descends. 
Conceals,  and  thus,  twice,  being  to  him  lends. 

"  Me,  to  sweet  sleep  resign'd  and  balmy  rest. 
No  fear  alarm'd,  no  jealousy  possess'd. 
But,  oh  !  what  scenes  my  waking  eyes  survey'd ; 
Grim  death  in  all  his  horrid  pomp  array'd ; 
Porches  and  porticos  now  covered  o'er 
With  crimson  stains,  and  mid  their  pools  of  gore, 
My  friends  still  bleeding,  my  domestics  slain, 
The  truest,  best,  and  dearest  of  my  train. 
Already  at  my  bed  the  villains  stand 
Prepared,  already  lift  the  murdering  hand  ; 
My  life  hangs  wav'ring  on  a  point,  I  wait 
The  final  stroke,  and  yield  me  to  my  fate. 

"But  whether  reverence  of  their  ancient  lords. 
The  blood  of  Bourbon,  check'd  their  daring  swords ; 


here,"  and  at  the  same  time  he  threw  over  the  boy's  shoulders  a  tattered 
cloak.  While  leading  him  along,  an  assassin  met  them,  and  asked,  "  Who 
is  this  little  boy?"  "It  is  my  nephew,"  replied  the  marker;  "he  is 
drunk  ;  you  see  how  he  has  dressed  himself;  I  shall  whip  him  soundly." 
Finally,  the  poor  marker  led  him  home,  and  asked  thirty  crowns  for 
his  recompense.  From  there  the  young  la  Force  went,  disguised  as  a 
beggar,  to  the  house  of  his  relative.  Marshal  de  Biron,  who  was  grand 
master  of  the  artillery.  He  was  concealed,  for  some  days,  in  the  apartments 
of  the  females  ;  and,  finally,  the  court  having  commenced  a  vigorous 
Bearch  for  him,  he  was  saved  in  the  dress  of  a  page,  under  the  name  of 
Beaupui. 


86  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Whether,  ingenious  to  torment,  the  queen 
Held  Henry's  life  a  sacrifice  too  mean ; 
Or  wisely  spared  it,  to  secure  alone, 
In  future  storms,  a  shelter  for  her  own ; 
Instead  of  death,  at  once,  to  set  me  free. 
Chains'  and  a  dungeon  were  her  stern  decree. 

"Far  happier  was  the  fate  Coligni  shared : 
His  life  alone  her  treacherous  arts  ensnared. 
Freedom  and  glory  kept  he  unimpair'd.  .  .  . 
I  see  Eliza  shares  in  the  distress. 
Though  half  the  sad  recital  I  suppress. 
It  seem'd  as  from  the  queen's  malignant  eye 
All  France  had  caught  the  signal  to  destroy ; 
Swift  from  the  capital,*^  on  every  side, 

»  Several  gentlemen  attached  to  Henry  IV  were  assassinated  in  his  apart- 
ment ;  some  were  pursued  even  into  the  chamber  of  his  wife,  the  sister  of 
Charles  IX,  who  saved  their  lives  by  thro.wing  lierself  between  them  and 
the  murderers.  Henry  IV  and  the  Prince  de  Cond6,  his  cousin,  were 
arrested,  threatened  with  death,  and  compelled  to  abjure  Calvinisnt.  The 
priests,  afterwards,  made  this  abjuration  the  ground  for  treating  them 
as  relapsed.  Some  historians  affirm  that  Charles  IX  and  his  mother  went 
to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  witness  the  execution  of  Briquemant  and  Cavagne, 
who  were  condemned  to  death  as  accomplices  in  the  pretended  conspiracy 
which  they  had  the  baseness  to  impute  to  the  Admiral  de  Coligni,  and 
that  Henry  IV  and  the  Prince  de  Condc  were  compelled  to  accompany 
them. — K. 

3  Couriers  were,  at  first,  sent  to  the  commanders  of  the  provinces  and 
to  the  chiefs  of  tlie  principal  cities,  to  order  the  massacre.  Some  time 
after,  the  order  was  countermanded ;  but  the  massacre  was  not  prevented 
in  some  cities,  at  Lyons,  among  others,  where  the  party  of  the  Guises  was 
dominant.  In  a  great  number  of  cities,  however,  the  Catholic  leaders 
opposed  the  execution  of  the  order:  for  example,  the  Count  de  Tende,  in 
Provence  ;  Gordes,  of  the  house  of  Simiane,  in  Danphiny  ;  Saint-H^rem, 
in  Auvergne  ;  Cliarny,  of  the  liouse  of  Chabot,  in  Burgundy ;  La  Guiche 
at  Macon;  the  brave  d'Ortez  at  Bayonne  ;  Villars,  consul  of  Nimes;  the 
bishops  of  Angers,  Lisieux,  etc.,  etc.  Many  Protestants  were  saved  by 
their  relatives  and  by  their  friends ;  some  by  priests.  Of  this  number 
was  one  Tronchin,  who  remained  several  days  concealed  at  Troyes,  in  a 
cask,  and,  having  retired  to  Geneva,  became  there  the  liead  of  the  family 
of  that  name. — K. 


THE   HENRIADE.  87 

Death  o'er  the  kingdom  stretch'd  his  banners  wide. 
Kings  in  their  vengeance  are  too  well  obey'd ; 
Whole  armies  blindly  lend  their  impious  aid ; 
France  floats  in  blood,  and  all  her  rivers  sweep 
Upon  their  purple  tides  the  carnage  to  the  deep." 


THE    HENRIADE 


CANTO  III, 


^ry/ 


THE  ARGUMEId. 

The  hero  continues  the  history  of  the  civil  wars  of  France.  The  unfortu- 
nate death  of  Charles  IX.  Eeign  of  Henry  III.  His  character.  That 
of  the  famous  duke  de  Guise,  known  by  the  name  of  Balafr6.  Battle 
of  Coutras.  Murder  of  the  duke  de  Guise.  Extremities  to  which  Henry 
III  is  reduced.  Mayenne  at  the  head  of  the  League.  D'Aumale  the 
hero  of  it.  Keconciliation  of  Henry  III  and  Henry  king  of  Navarre. 
Queen  Elizabeth's  answer  to  Henry  of  Bourbon. 


^^^^^E'fe 


CANTO  THE  THIRD. 


"  When  many  a  day  (for  thus  tlie  fates  ordain'd) 

With  blackest  deeds  of  murder  had  been  stain'd ; 

When  each  assassin,  cruel  and  abhorr'd, 

Fatigued  with  crimes,  had  sheathed  his  glutted  sword  ; 

Those  crimes  at  length  the  factious  crowd  alarm'd, 

Whom  zeal  had  blinded,  and  their  sovereign  arm'd. 

As  rage  subsided,  melting  pity  moved 

Each  friend  to  virtue,  who  his  country  loved ; 

That  country's  voice  awaken'd  softer  cares, 

And  Charles  himself  relented  at  her  tears. 

That  early  culture,  by  ill  fate  design'd 

To  blast  the  fairer  blossoms  of  his  mind, 

Conscience  subdued ; — her  whispering  voice  alone 

Can  shake  with  terror  the  securest  throne. 

Not  all  his  mother's  principles  could  frame 

A  heart  like  hers,  insensible  of  shame. 

Severe  remorse  his  anxious  soul  dismay'd. 

His  strength  was  wasted,  and  his  youth  decay'd. 

Heaven  mark'd  him  out,  in  vengeance  for  his  crimes, 

A  dread  example  to  succeeding  times. 

Myself  was  present  at  his  latest  breath ; 

»  Charles  IX  was  always  in  bad  health  after  the  massacre  of  Saint  Bar- 
tholomew, and  died  at  the  expiration  of  two  years,  bathed  in  his  own 
blood,  which  poured  through  the  pores  of  his  skin. 

Henry  IV  witnessed  the  death  of  Charles  IX,  who  summoned  him  to  his 
bedside,  notwithstanding  the  injuries  which  he  had  done  to  him,  and  com- 


93  THE  HENRIADE. 

And  still  I  shudder  at  that  scene  of  death, 

When,  in  return  for  tides  of  Gallic  blood, 

Each  bursting  vein  pour'd  forth  the  crimson  flood. 

Thus  fell,  lamented,  in  his  early  prime, 

A  youthful  monarch  bred  to  every  crime, 

From  whose  repentance  we  had  hoped  to  gain 

The  balmy  blessings  of  a  milder  reign. 

Soon  as  he  died,  with  speed  advancing,  forth 

From  the  bleak  bosom  of  the  wint'ry  north 

Great  Valois  came,  like  some  great  orient  star. 

To  claim  his  birthright  in  these  realms  of  war. 

On  him  Polonia '  had  bestow'd  her  throne, 

Deem'd  by  each  province  worthy  of  the  crown. 

Great  are  the  dangers  of  too  bright  a  name  : 

E'en  Valois  fell  a  victim  to  his  fame. 

Though  in  his  cause  each  danger  I  defy, 

Could  toil  forever,  and  with  transport  die. 

Yet,  heaven-born  Truth !  this  tongue  thy  accents  loves, 

And  only  praises  what  the  heart  approves. 

Soon  was  the  race  of  all  his  greatness  run ; 

As  morning  vapors  fly  before  the  sun. 

Oft  have  I  mark'd  these  changes,  often  seen. 

Heroes  and  kings  become  the  weakest  men  : 

Have  seen  the  laurel'd  prince,  in  battle  brave, 

nutted  his  wife  and  daughter  to  him  as  to  the  natural  heir  to  the  crown, 
and  as  to  a  prince  whose  greatness  of  soul  and  fidelity  he  acknowledged. 
He  warned  him  to  distrust — (but  he  pronounced  this  name,  and  some 
words  which  followed,  so  low  as  not  to  be  heard  by  those  in  the  chamber). 
"  Sir,  you  must  not  say  that,"  said  the  queen-mother,  who  was  present. 
"  Why  not  say  it  ?"  replied  Charles  IX  ;  "  it  is  true."  It  is  probable  that 
he  spoke  of  Henry  III,  whose  vices  he  knew,  and  whom  he  had  regarded 
with  horror  ever  since  he  had  seen  him  delay  his  departure  for  Poland,  in 
the  hope  that  death  would  speedily  assist  him  to  the  throne  of  France. — K. 
»  The  reputation  which  he  had  acquired  at  Jarnac  and  at  Moncontour, 
sustained  by  the  money  of  France,  caused  him  to  be  elected  king  of  Po- 
land, 1573.  He  succeeded  Sigismond  II,  last  prince  of  the  race  of  the 
Jagellons. 


THE   HENKIADE.  93 

Wear  the  soft  chain,  and  live  a  courtier's  slave. 
This  fact  by  long  experience  have  I  known  : 
Seeds  of  true  courage  in  the  mind  are  sown. 
Valois  was  form'd  by  heaven's  peculiar  care 
For  martial  prowess,  and  the  deeds  of  war ; 
Yet  was  too  weak  the  rod  of  power  to  wield, 
Though  great  in  arms,  and  steady  in  the  field. 
Detested  minions  show'd  their  artful  skill. 
And  reign'd  supreme  the  sovereigns  of  his  will. 
His  voice,  in  truth,  but  utter'd  their  decrees ; 
While  they,  indulging  in  voluptuous  ease. 
Drank  of  each  joy  which  luxury  supplies. 
And  scorn'd  to  listen  to  a  nation's  cries. 
Unmoved,  beheld  afQicted  France  lament 
Her  strength  exhausted  and  her  treasures  spent. 
Beneath  their  yoke  while  Valois  tamely  bow'd, 
And  new  oppressions  from  new  taxes  flow'd, 
Lo,  G^k^*  appears !    Ambition  spurs  him  on  ; 
All  eyes  are  fix'd  upon  this  rising  sun. 
His  deeds  of  war,  the  glory  of  his  race, 
His  manly  beauty,  and  attractive  grace ; 
But  more  than  all,  that  happy,  pleasing  art, 
Which  wins  our  love,  and  steals  upon  the  heart, 
Subdued  e'en  those  whom  virtue  faintly  warms. 
And  gain'd  their  wishes  by  resistless  charms. 
None  e'er  like  him  could  lead  the  mind  astray. 
Or  rule  the  passions  with  a  sovereign  sway. 
None  e'er  conceal'd  from  busy,  curious  eyes 
Their  dark  intentions  in  so  fair  disguise.         . 
Though  proud  ambition  kindled  in  his  soul, 

1  Henry  de  Gnise,  the  Balafre,  was  born,  in  1550,  of  Francis  de  Guise 
and  Anne  d'Est.  He  executed  the  great  project  of  the  League,  formed  by 
the  Cardinal  de  Lorraine,  his  uncle,  in  the  time  of  the  Council  of  Trent, 
and  begun  by  Francis,  his  Mher. 


94  THE   IIKNRIADE. 

His  cooler  judgment  could  that  pride  control. 

To  gain  the  crowd,  and  win  deserved  esteem, 

Detested  levies  were  his  daily  theme. 

Oft  have  they  heard  his  flattering  tongue  declare 

Tlie  public  sorrows  were  his  only  care. 

On  modest  w^orth  he  lavish'd  all  his  store, 

Or  clothed  the  naked,  or  enrich'd  the  poor. 

Oft  would  his  alms  prevent  the  starting  tear. 

And  tell,  that  Guise  and  charity  were  near. 

All  arts  were  tried,  which  cunning  might  afford, 

To  court  the  nobles  whom  his  soul  abhorr'd. 

Alike  to  virtue  as  to  vice  inclined. 

Or  love,  or  endless  hatred  ruled  his  mind. 

He  braved  all  dangers  which  on  arms  await. 

No  chief  more  bold,  none  more  oppress'd  the  State. 

When  time,  at  length,  had  made  his  influence  strong. 

And  fix'd  the  passions  of  the  giddy  throng, 

Stripp'd  of  his  mask,  the  daring  traitor  shone. 

Defied  his  sovereign,  and  attack'd  the  throne. 

Within  our  walls  the  fatalJLeague  began. 

From  town  to  town  throughout  the  realm  it  ran. 

Nursed  by  all  ranks  the  hideous  monster  grew. 

Fattening  on  carnage,  big  with  tyrants  new. 

Two  monarchs  ruled  o'er  Gallia's  hapless  land  : 

This  held  alone  the  shadow  of  command  ; 

That  widely  spread  fierce  war's  destructive  flame, 

Master  of  all  things  save  the  royal  name. 

Valois,  awaked,  the  threatening  danger  sees, 

And  ^uits  the  slumbers  of  lethargic  ease. 

But  still  to  ease  and  indolence  a  prey, 

His  eyes  are  dazzled  by  the  blaze  of  day. 

Though  o'er  his  head  the  stormy  thunders  roll. 

Nor  storms  nor  thunders  rouse  his  sluggish  soul. 

Sweet  to  his  taste  the  streams  of  pleasure  flow, 


THE   IIENRIADE. 

And  sleep  conceals  the  precipice  below. 

Myself  remain'd,  the  next  succeeding  heir, 

To  save  the  monarch,  or  his  ruin  share. 

Eager  I  flew  his  weakness  to  supply ; 

Firmly  resolved  to  conquer,  or  to  die. 

But  Guise,  alas !  that  sly,  dissembling  fiend, 

By  craft  deprived  him  of  his  truest  friend. 

That  old  pretence  through  all  revolving  time, 

Divine  religion,  veil'd  the  horrid  crime. 

The  busy  crowd  fictitious  virtue  warm'd, 

With  zeal  inspired  them,  and  with  fury  arm'd. 

Before  their  eyes  in  lively  tints  he  drew 

That  ancient  worship,  which  their  fathers  knew. 

From  new-born  sects  declared  what  ills  had  flow'd, 

And  painted  Bourbon  as  a  foe  to  God. 

*  Through  all  your  climes,  forbid  it  heaven  !'  he  said, 

*  His  tenets  flourish,  and  his  errors  spread. 
Yon  walls,  that  cast  a  sacred  horror  round, 
Will  soon  be  sunk,  and  levell'd  with  the  ground. 
Soon  will  you  see  unhallow'd  temples  rise, 
And  point  their  airy  summits  to  the  skies. 

So  loved  by  Bourbon,  so  adored  has  been 
The  curst  example  of  Britannia's  queen.' 
Scarce  had  he  spoken,  when  the  public  fear 
Was  swiftly  wafted  to  the  royal  ear. 
Nay,  more,  the  Leaguers  issue  Kome's  decree. 
And  curse  the  monarch  that  unites  with  me. 
Now  was  this  arm  prepared  to  strike  the  blow, 
Pour  forth  its  strength,  and  thunder  on  the  foe ; 
When  Yalois,  won  by  subtle,  dark  intrigue, 
Fix'd  on  my  ruin,  and  obey'd  the  League. 
Unnumber'd  soldiers,  arm'd  in  dread  array, 
Fill'd  every  plain,  and  spoke  the  king's  dismay. 
With  grief  I  saw  such  jealousy  disclosed. 


95 


9G  THE   HENEIADE. 

Bewail'd  his  weakness,  and  his  power  opposed. 
Each  city  now  was  lavish  of  supplies ; 
Each  passing  hour  beheld  new  armies  rise, 
Led  on  by  fierce  Joyeuse,  and  well-instructed  Guise. 
Guise,  form'd  alike  for  prudence  as  for  war. 
Dispersed  my  friends,  and  bafiied  all  their  care. 
Still  undismay'd,  such  strength  my  valor  boasts, 
I  press'd  through  myriads  of  embattled  hosts. 
Through  all  the  field  I  fought  the  proud  Joyeuse ;' 
But  stay, — the  rest  Eliza  will  excuse. 
More  of  that  chief  'twere  needless  to  relate. 
You  know  his  rout,  the  gallant  soldier's  fate." 

"  Not  so,"  the  queen  with  eagerness  replied  : 
"  Well  hast  thou  spoken ;  modesty's  thy  guide ; 
But  deign  to  tell  me  what  I  wish  to  hear. 
Such  themes  are  worthy  of  Eliza's  ear  : 
Joyeuse,  his  fall,  in  vivid  colors  draw ; 
Go  on,  and  paint  thy  conquest  at  Coutras." 
Touch'd  with  these  words,  the  hero  bow'd  his  head ; 
An  honest  blush  his  manly  cheek  o'erspread. 
Pausing  awhile,  the  tale  he  thus  led  on. 
Yet  wish'd  the  glory  other  than  his  own. 
"Of  all,  who  Valois^  could  by  flattery  move. 
Who  nursed  his  weakness,  and  enjoy'd  his  love. 


1  The  battle  of  Coutras,  between  Anne,  duke  de  Joyeuse,  and  Henry 
IV,  then  king  of  Navarre,  took  place  October  20,  1587.  The  army  of  the 
former  was  compared  with  that  of  Darius,  and  the  army  of  the  latter  with 
that  of  Alexander.  Joyeuse  was  slain  in  the  battle  by  two  captains  of  in- 
fantry named  Bordeaux  and  Descentiers. 

'  He  had  espoused  the  sister  of  the  wife  of  Ilenry  III.  "While  ambassa- 
dor to  Eome  he  was  treated  as  the  brother  of  the  king.  He  had  a  heart 
worthy  of  his  great  fortune.  Having,  one  day,  detained  the  two  Secreta- 
ries of  State  too  long  in  the  ante-chamber  of  the  king,  he  made  apologies 
to  them,  and  presented  to  them  a  gift  of  a  hundred  thousand  crowns,  which 
the  king  had  just  made  to  him. 


THE   IIENRIADE,  97 

Joyeuse,  illustrious,  best  deserved  to  share 
The  fairest  sunshine  of  his  royal  care. 
If  sullen  Fate,  with  her  unfavoring  shears. 
Had  not  retrench'd  the  fillet  of  his  years, 
In  noble  doings  had  his  virtue  shone. 
And  Guise's  greatness  not  excell'd  his  own. 
But  vice  o'er  virtue  gain'd  superior  force, 
Court  was  his  cradle,  luxury  his  nurse  : 
Yet  dared  the  amorous  chieftain  to  oppose 
Unskilful  valor  to  experienced  foes. 
From  Pleasure's  downy  lap  the  courtiers  came 
To  guard  his  person,  and  to  share  his  fame. 

"  In  gay  attire  each  gallant  youth  was  drest ; 
Some  cipher  glitter'd  on  each  martial  vest — 
Some  dear  distinction,  such  as  lovers  wear, 
To  tell  the  fondness  of  the  yielding  fair. 
The  costly  sapphire,  or  the  diamond's  rays, 
O'er  their  rich  armor  shed  the  vivid  blaze. 
Thus  deck'd  by  folly,  thus  elate  and  vain. 
These  troops  of  Venus  issued  to  the  plain. 
Swift  march'd  their  ranks,  as  tumult  led  the  way, 
Unwisely  brave,  and  impotently  gay. 
In  Bourbon's  camp,  disdaining  empty  show, 
Far  other  scenes  were  open'd  to  the  view : 
An  army,  silent  as  the  dead  of  night, 
Display'd  its  forces  well  inured  to  fight ; 
Men  gray  in  arms,  accustom'd,  too,  to  bleed. 
Who  bravely  suffer'd  in  their  country's  need. 
The  only  graces  that  employ'd  their  care 
Were  swords  well-pointed,  and  the  dress  of  war. 
Like  them  array'd,  and  steady  to  my  trust, 
I  led  the  squadrons  cover'd  o'er  with  dust. 
Like  them,  ten  thousand  deaths  I  dared  to  face. 


98  THE   IIKNRIADE. 

DistinguisliM  only  by  my  rank  and  place. 
These  eyes  beheld  the  brilliant  foe  o'erthrown, 
Expiring  legions,  and  the  field  our  own. 
Deep  in  their  breasts  I  plunged  the  fatal  spear, 
And  wish'd  some  Spanish  bosom  had  been  there. 
Still  shall  my  tongue  their  honest  praises  tell ; 
Firm  in  his  post  each  youthful  courtier  fell. 
And  bravely  struggled  to  his  latest  breath 
Amid  the  terrors  of  surrounding  death. 
Our  silken  sons  of  pleasure  and  of  ease, 
Preserve  their  valor  in  the  midst  of  peace. 
Call'd  forth  to  war,  they  bravely  scorn  to  yield — 
Servile  at  court,  but  heroes  in  the  field. 
Joyeuse,  alas !  I  tried  in  vain  to  save ; 
None  heard  the  orders  which  my  mercy  gave. 
Too  soon  I  saw  him  sunk  to  endless  night, 
Sustain'd  by  kind  associates  in  the  fight, 
A  pale  and  breathless  corse  all  ghastly  to  the  sight. 
Thus  some  fair  stem,  whose  opening  flowers  display 
Their  fragrant  bosoms  to  the  dawn  of  day. 
Which  decks  the  early  scene,  and  fresh  appears 
With  Zephyr's  kisses  and  Aurora's  tears. 
Too  soon  decays,  on  Nature's  lap  reclined, 
Cropp'd  by  the  scythe,  or  scatter'd  by  the  wind. 
But  why  should  memory  recall  to  view 
Those  horrid  triumphs,  now  oblivion's  due  ? 
Conquests  so  gain'd  must  ever  cease  to  charm. 
While  Gallic  blood  still  blushes  on  my  arm. 
Those  beams  of  grandeur  with  false  lustre  shone. 
And  tears  bedew  the  laurels  which  I  won. 
Unhappy  Valois !  that  ill-fated  day 
Brought  down  on  thee  dishonor  and  dismay. 
Paris  grew  proud,  the  League's  submission  less, 
And  Guise's  glory  doubled  thy  distress. 


THE  hj:nriade.  99 

Vimori's  plains  saw  Guise'  tlie  sword  unslieatli ; 

Germania  sufFer'd  for  Joyeuse's  death. 

Auneau  beheld  my  army  of  allies 

Yield  to  his  power,  defeated  by  surprise. 

Through  Paris'  streets  he  march'd  with  haughty  air, 

Array'd  in  laurels,  and  the  pride  of  war. 

Even  Valois  tamely  to  his  insults  bow'd, 

And  served  this  idol  of  the  gazing  crowd. 

Shame  will  at  length  the  coolest  courage  warm, 

And  give  new  vigor  to  the  weakest  arm  : 

Such  vile  affronts  made  Valois  less  incline 

To  offer  incense  at  so  mean  a  shrine. 

Too  late  he  tried  his  greatness  to  restore, 

And  reign  the  monarch  he  had  lived  before ; 

Now  deem'd  a  tyrant  by  the  factious  crew, 

Nor  loyal  fear  nor  love  his  subjects  knew. 

All  Paris  arms,  sedition  spreads  the  flame. 

And  headstrong  mutiny  asserts  her  claim. 

Encircling  troops  raise  high  the  hostile  mound. 

Besiege  his  palace  and  his  guards  surround. 

Guise,^  undisturb'd,  amid  the  raging  storm. 

Gave  it  a  milder  or  severer  form ; 

Ruled  the  mad  tumult  of  rebellious  spleen, 

And  guided  as  he  pleased  the  great  machine. 

All  had  been  lost,  and  Valois  doom'd  to  die 

By  one  command,  one  glance  of  Guise's  eye ; 

But  when  each  arm  was  ready  for  the  blow. 

Compassion  soothed  the  fierceness  of  the  foe  ; 


1  While  the  army  of  the  king  was  beaten  at  Coutras,  the  Duke  de  Guise 
performed  feats  worthy  of  a  very  skilful  general  against  a  numerous  army 
of  foreign  troops,  sent  to  the  assistance  of  Henry  IV.  After  having  har- 
assed and  fatigued  them  for  a  long  time,  he  defeated  them  at  the  village 
of  Auneau. 

^  The  Duke  de  Guise,  at  the  battle  of  the  barricades,  contented  himself 
with  sending  back  to  Henry  III  his  guards,  after  having  disarmed  them. 


100  THE  HENBIADE. 

Enough  were  Ueem'd  the  terrors  of  the  fight, 
And  meek-eyed  pity  gave  the  power  of  flight. 
Guise  greatly  err'd,  such  subjects  all  things  dare, 
Their  king  must  perish  or  themselves  despair. 
This  day,  confirm'd  and  strengthen'd  in  his  schemes, 
lie  saw  that  all  was  fatal  but  extremes ; 
Ilimself  must  mount  the  scaffold  or  the  throne. 
The  lord  of  all  things  or  the  lord  of  none. 
Through  Gallia's  realms  adored,  from  conquest  vain, 
Aided  by  Rome  and  seconded  by  Spain ; 
Pregnant  with  hope  and  absolute  in  power. 
He'  thought  those  iron  ages  to  restore, 
When  erst  our  kings  in  mouldering  cloisters  lived. 
In  early  infancy  of  crowns  deprived. 
There  secretly  to  weep  the  hours  away, 
While  tyrants  govern'd  with  oppressive  sway. 

"  Valois,  indignant  at  so  high  a  crime, 
Belay'd  his  vengeance  to  some  better  time. 
Our  States  at  Blois  were  summon'd  to  appear, 
And  Fame,  no  doubt,  has  told  you  what  they  were. 
In  barren  streams  from  oratory's  tongue 
Smooth  flow'd  the  tide  of  eloquence  along ; 
Laws  were  proposed  whose  power  none  e'er  perceived, 
And  ills  lamented  which  none  e'er  relieved. 


*  The  Cardinal  de  Guise,  one  of  the  brothers  of  the  Duke  de  Guise, 
said,  more  than  once,  tliat  he  should  never  die  content,  until  he  had  the 
king's  head  between  his  knees  to  give  him  a  monk's  crown  or  tonsure. 
Madame  de  Montpensier,  sister  of  the  Guises,  desired  that  her  scissors 
might  be  made  use  of  for  this  sacred  purpose.  Every  one  knows  the  de- 
vice of  Henry  III ;  it  was  three  crowns  with  these  words :  Manet  vltima 
CoUo,  for  which  the  Leaguers  substituted  these :  Manet  ultima  claustro. 
The  following  Latin  lines  which  were  affixed  to  the  gates  of  the  Louvre, 
are  also  well  known  : 

"Qui  dedit  nnte  duas,  nnum  abstulit;  altera  nutat; 
Tertia  tonsoris  est  facienda  manu." 


THE    IIENRIADE.  101 

"jji^ise  in  the  midst,  witli  liigh  imperious  pride, 
Was  vainly  seated  by  his  sovereign's  side. 
Sure  of  success,  he  saw  around  the  throne, 
Or  thought  he  saAV,  no  subjects  but  his  own. 
These  sons  of  infamy,  this  venal  band. 
Was  ready  to  bestow  the  dear  command. 
When  Valois'  power  was  destined  to  appear, 
Weary  alike  of  mercy  and  of  fear. 
Each  day  his  rival  studied  to  attain 
The  mean,  the  odious  triumphs  of  disdain  ; 
Nor  deem'd  that  ever  such  a  prince  could  show 
Those  stern  resolves,  which  strike  the  assassin's  blow. 
Fate  o'er  his  eyes  with  envious  hand  had  spread 
Her  thickest  veil's  impenetrable  shade. 
The  hour  arrived  when  Guise  was  doom'd  to  bear 
That  lot  of  nature,  which  all  mortals  share. 
With  countless  wounds'  before  the  royal  eye, 

>  The  Duke  de  Guise  was  killed  on  Friday,  December  23,  1588,  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  Historians  say  that  he  was  seized  with  faintness 
in  the  ante-chamber  of  the  king,  on  account  of  having  spent  the  night 
with  a  lady  of  the  court, — Madame  de  Noirmoutier,  according  to  tradition. 
All  who  have  written  the  story  of  his  death,  say  that,  as  soon  as  he  enter- 
ed the  council-chamber,  he  began  to  suspect  his  fate  by  the  movements 
of  those  already  assembled.  D'Aubigne  relates  that  he  first  encousitered, 
in  this  chamber,  d'Espinac,  archbishop  of  Lyons,  his  confidant.  The 
archbishop,  who  also  had  his  suspicions,  said  to  the  duke,  in  presence  of 
Larchant,  captain  of  the  guard :  "  This  coat  of  yours  is  very  thin  for  this 
weather ;  you  should  have  taken  care  to  have  it  more  thickly  lined." 
These  words,  pronounced  in  a  tone  which  betrayed  dread  on  the  part  of 
the  speaker,  confirmed  the  fears  of  the  duke.  He  entered,  however,  a 
narrow  passage  in  the  king's  chamber,  which  led  to  a  cabinet,  the  door  of 
which  the  king  had  walled  up.  The  duke,  ignorant  that  this  door  had 
been  closed,  lifted  the  tapestry  which  concealed  it.  In  an  instant  a  num- 
ber of  those  Gascons,  called  the  Forty-five,  pierced  him  with  poniards, 
with  which  the  king  himself  had  furnished  them. 

The  assassins  were  la  Bastide,  Monsivry,  Saint-Malin,  Saint-Gaudin, 
Saint-Capautel,  Halfrenas,  Ilerbelade,  with  Lognac,  their  captain.  Mon- 
sivry dealt  the  first  blow  ;  he  was  followed  by  Lognac,  la  Bastide,  Saint- 
Malin,  etc.,  who  fell  at  the  same  time  npon  the  duke. 

There  is  still  shown,  in  the  Chateau  de  Blois,  a  stone  in  the  wall  against 


102  THE  HENEIADE. 

The  king  ordain'd  that  haughty  Guise  should  die. 
All  pale,  and  cover'd  by  the  crimson  tide, 
This  sun  descended  in  his  native  pride. 
The  parting  soul,  by  thirst  of  glory  fired. 
In  life's  last  moment  Valois'  fear  inspired. 
Thus  fell  the  mighty  chief,  in  whom  combined 
Were  foulest  vices,  virtues  most  refined. 
With  other  conduct  than  to  kings  belongs. 
Did  Valois  suff"er,  and  revenge  his  wrongs. 
Soon  did  the  dire  report  through  Paris  spread. 
That  heaven  was  outraged,  and  that  Guise  was  dead. 
The  young,  the  old,  with  unavailing  sighs 
Display'd  their  grief,  and  join'd  their  plaintive  cries. 
The  softer  sex  invoked  the  powers  above, 
And  clasp'd  his  statues  in  the  arms  of  love. 
And  Paris  thought  her  father,  and  her  God, 
Call'd  loud  for  vengeance,  and  inspired  to  blood. 
Amid  the  rest,  the  brave  and  valiant  Mayne 
Sought  not  their  zealous  fury  to  restrain  ; 
But,  more  by  interest  than  resentment  moved. 
The  flame  augmented,  and  their  zeal  approved. 

"  Mayne,^  under  Guise  inured  to  war's  alarms. 
Was  nursed  in  battle,  and  train'd  up  to  arms  : 

which  he  leaned  in  falling,  and  which  was  the  first  stained  with  his  blood. 
Some  Lorranians  passing  through  Blois  stopped  to  kiss  this  stone,  and  to 
scrape  oflf,  with  their  knives,  some  of  its  dust,  which  they  carried  away  as 
a  precious  memento. 

The  death  of  the  Cardinal  de  Guise,  who  was  also  killed  at  Blois,  is  not 
spoken  of  in  the  poem.  The  reason  is  obvious  :  the  details  of  history  are 
xinfavorable  to  the  unity  of  a  poem,  because  the  interest  diminishes  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  divided.  The  Prince  de  Conde  is  not  spoken  of  in  the 
battle  of  Coutras,  in  order  that  the  attention  of  the  reader  may  not  be 
withdrawn  from  Henry  IV. 

1  The  Duke  do  Mayenne,  nrother  of  the  Balafr^,  had  been,  for  a  long 
time,  jealous  of  his  elder  brother.  He  had  all  his  great  qualities,  except 
his  activity. 


THE   HENRIADE.  103 

His  brother's  equal  in  cacli  dark  intrigue, 

And  now  the  lord  and  glory  of  the  League. 

Thus  highly  raised,  thus  eminently  great, 

He  grieved  no  longer  for  his  brother's  fate  ;^ 

But  better  pleased  to  govern  than  obey, 

Forgot  the  loss,  and  wiped  his  tears  away. 

Mayne,  with  a  soul  to  generous  deeds  inclined, 

A  statesman's  cunning,  with  a  hero's  mind, 

By  subtle  arts  unnumber'd  followers  draws 

To  yield  lijm  homage,  and  to  serve  his  laws. 

Skilful  e'en  good  from  evil  to  produce, 

Full  well  he  knows  their  talents  and  their  use. 

Though  brighter  splendors  dazzled  all  our  eyes, 

Not  greater  dangers  ever  rose  from  Guise. 

To  young  Aumale,^  and  this  more  prudent  guide, 

The  Leaguers  owe  their  courage  and  their  pride. 

Aumale,  the  Great  Invincible  by  name, 

Is  high  exalted  in  the  lists  of  fame. 

Through  all  their  ranks  he  spreads  ambition's  fires, 

Presumptuous  valor,  and  his  own  desires ; 

Unshaken  in  their  cause  the  League  protects, 

And  bravely  executes  what  Mayne  directs. 

"  Meantime,  the  king,  whose  power  the  Flemings  dread, 
To  deeds  inhuman  from  his  cradle  bred. 
That  tyrant  Catholic,  that  artful  foe, 


1  In  the  great  history  of  Mezeray,  "we  read  that  the  Duke  de  Mayenne 
was  suspected  of  having  written  a  letter  to  the  king,  in  which  he  warned 
him  to  guard  against  his  brother.  This  suspicion  alone  is  sufficient  ground 
for  the  character  here  given  to  the  Duke  de  Mayenne,  a  character  natural 
*to  an  ambitious  person,  and  especially  to  a  leader  of  a  party. 

2  The  Chevalier  d' Aumale,  brother  of  the  Duke  d' Aumale,  of  the  house 
of  Lorraine,  an  impetuous  young  man,  who  possessed  brilliant  qualities, 
who  was  always  at  the  head  of  sorties  during  the  siege  of  Paris,  and  who 
inspired  the  inhabitants  with  his  valor  and  boldness. 


104  THE   HENRIADE. 

Incensed  at  Bourbon,'  and  Eliza  too, 
Anibitious  Philip  sends  his  warlike  train 
To  aid  our  rivals,  and  the  cause  of  Mayne. 
Rome,'  best  employ'd  in  making  wars  to  cease, 
Lights  Discord's  torch,  and  bids  her  fires  increase. 
The  same  fierce  views  the  Christian  father  owns, 
Points  the  keen  blade,  and  animates  his  sons. 
From  Europe's  either  end  the  torrent  falls  ; 
Uniting  sorrows  burst  upon  our  walls. 
Weak  and  defenceless  in  this  evil  hour, 
Valois  relented,  and  implored  my  power. 
Humane  benevolence  my  soul  approves. 
The  State  commiserates,  and  Valois  loves. 
Impending  dangers  banish  all  my  ire, 
A  brother's  safety  is  my  sole  desire. 
AVith  honest  zeal  I  labor  for  his  good  : 
'Tis  duty  calls  me,  and  the  tics  of  blood 
I  know  the  royal  dignity  my  own. 
And  vindicate  the  honors  of  the  crown. 
Nor  treaty  made,  nor  hostage^  ask'd,  I  came. 
And  told  him  courage  w^as  his  guide  to  fame. 
On  Paris'  ramparts  bid  him  cast  his  eye. 
And  there  resolve  to  conquer  or  to  die. 
These  friendly  words,  thus  happily  applied, 

»  Philip  II,  king  of  Spain,  son  of  Charles  V.  He  was  called  the  Demon 
of  the  South — Djemonium  Meridianum,  becanse  he  troubled  all  Europe, 
in  the  south  of  which  Spain  is  situated.  lie  sent  powerful  succors  to  the 
League,  with  the  design  of  causing  the  crown  of  France  to  pass  to  the 
infanta  Clara  Eugenia,  or  to  some  prince  of  his  family. 

2  The  court  of  Rome,  gained  by  the  Guises,  and  at  that  time  submissive 
to  Spain,  did  what  it  could  to  ruin  France,  Gregory  XIII  aided  the 
League  with  men  and  money ;  and  Sixtus  V  began  his  pontificate  by 
great,  but,  fortunately,  most  useless  violence  against  the  royal  house,  as 
may  be  seen  in  the  remarks  in  the  first  canto. 

•  Henry  IV,  while  king  of  Navarre,  had  the  generosity  to  visit  Henry 
III  at  Tours,  attended  only  by  a  page,  notwithstanding  the  suspicions  and 
prayers  of  his  old  ofidcers,  who  feared  for  him  a  second  Saint-Bartholomew. 


THE    HENKIADE.  105 

Through  all  his  soul  diffused  a  generous  pride. 
Manners  thus  changed,  thus  resolutely  brave, 
The  sense  of  shame,  and  not  example  gave. 
The  serious  lessons  which  misfortune  brings, 
Aro  needful  often,  and  of  use  to  kings." 

Thus  Henry  spoke,  with  honesty  of  heart, 
And  begg'd  for  succors  on  Eliza's  part. 
Now  from  the  towers  where  rebel  Discord  stood, 
Conquest  recalls  him  to  her  scenes  of  blood. 
The  flower  of  England  follows  to  the  plain. 
And  cleaves  the  bosom  of  the  azure  main. 
Essex  commands — the  proud  Iberian  knows, 
That  Essex '  conquers  e'en  the  wisest  foes — 
And  little  thinks  he  that  injurious  Fate 
Will  blast  his  laurels  with  her  keenest  hate. 
To  France  brave  Henry  hastens  to  repair, 
Eager  to  grace  the  theatre  of  war. 
"  Go,"  said  the  queen,  "  thyself  and  virtue  please  ; 
My  troops  attend  thee  o'er  the  azure  seas. 
For  thee,  not  Valois,  they  endure  the  fight ; 
Thy  cares  must  guard  them,  and  defend  their  right. 
From  thy  example  will  they  scorn  to  swerve  ; 
And  rather  seem  to  imitate  than  serve. 
Who  now  the  sword  for  valiant  Bourbon  draws 
AVill  learn  to  triumph  in  Britannia's  cause. 
Oh  !  may  thy  power  the  factious  Leaguers  quell. 
And  Mayne's  allies  thy  gallant  conquests  feel ! 
Spain  is  too  weak  thy  rebel  foes  to  save. 


1  Kobert  Devereux,  earl  of  Essex,  famous  for  his  capture  of  Cadiz  from 
the  Spaniards,  for  the  love  of  Elizabeth  for  him,  and  for  his  tragical  death 
in  1601.  He  had  taken  Cadiz  from  the  Spaniards,  and  had  beaten  them 
more  than  once  iipon  the  sea.  Queen  Elizabeth  sent  him  to  France  in 
1590,  to  the  aid  of  Henry  IV,  at  the  head  of  five  thousand  men. 

5» 


10^1  THK    IIKNRIADK. 

And  Roman  thunders  never  awe  the  brave. 

Go,  free  mankind,  and  break  the  iron  chains 

Where  Sixtus  governs,  or  where  Philip'  reigns. 

The  cruel  Philip,  artful  as  his  sire. 

In  all  that  views  of  interest  may  require. 

Though  less  rcnown'd  in  war,  less  great  and  brave, 

Division  spreads  in  order  to  enslave  ; 

Forms  in  his  palace  each  ambitious  scheme. 

And  boundless  triumphs  are  his  darling  theme. 

"  Lo  !  Sixtus,'^  raised  from  nothing  to  the  throne, 
Designs  no  power  above  himself  to  own. 
Montalto's  shepherd  monarchs  he'd  o'ercome. 
And  dictate  laws  in  Paris,  as  at  Rome. 
Safe  in  the  honors  which  adorn  his  brow. 
To  Philip  and  to  all  mankind  a  foe  ; 
As  serves  his  cause,  or  insolent,  or  meek. 
Rival  of  kings,  and  tyrant  o'er  the  weak. 
Through  every  clime,  with  faction  at  their  head. 
E'en  to  our  court  his  dark  intrigues  have  spread. 
These  mighty  rulers  fear  not  to  defy ; 
They  both  have  dared  Eliza's  power  to  try ; 
Witness,  ye  seas,^  how  Philip  fought  in  vain 

1  Sixtus  V,  pope,  had  dared  to  excommunicate  the  King  of  France,  and 
particularly  Henry  IV,  then  king  of  Navarre. 

Philip  II,  king  of  Spain,  grand  protector  of  the  League. 

"  Sixtus  V,  born  at  Grottes,  in  the  march  of  Ancona,  of  a  poor  vine- 
dresser, named  Peretti,  was  a  man  whose  turbulence  equalled  his  dissimu- 
lation. While  a  Franciscan  friar,  he  beat  to  death  the  nephew  of  his  pro- 
vincial, and  embroiled  himself  with  the  whole  order.  Wliile  inquisitor  at 
Venice  he  got  into  trouble,  and  was  obliged  to  fly.  While  cardinal,  he 
composed  in  Latin  the  bull  of  excommunication  launched  by  Pius  V  against 
Queen  Elizabeth.  Nevertheless,  he  esteemed  this  queen,  and  called  her 
Uk  Gran  Cervello  di  Principessa. 

9  This  event  was  quite  recent :  for  Henry  IV  is  supposed  to  see  Eliza- 
beth in  1589  ;  and  it  was  the  year  preceding  that  the  great  fleet  of  Philip 
II,  destined  for  the  conquest  of  England,  was  beaten  by  Admiral  Drake, 
and  scattered  by  the  tempest. 


THE   HENKIADE.  107 

Witli  English  valor,  and  the  stormy  main. 
These  shores  beheld  the  proud  Armada  lost ; 
Yon  purple  billows  bore  the  floating  host. 
Rome's  pontiff  still  in  quiet  silence  bears 
The  loss  of  conquest,  and  our  greatness  fears. 

"  Display  thy  banners  in  the  martial  field  ; 
When  Mayne  is  conquer'd,  Rome  herself  will  yield. 
Though  proud  when  fortune  smiles,  her  own  defeat 
Lays  her  submissive  at  the  victor's  feet. 
Prompt  to  condemn,  and  eager  to  absolve, 
Her  flames  and  thunders  wait  on  thy  resolve." 

A  specious  criticism  upon  this  passage  appeared  in  the  Journal  of  Tre- 
voux.  It  was  not,  says  this  journal,  like  Queen  Elizabeth  to  believe  that 
Kome  could  be  complaisant  to  earthly  potentates,  since  Eome  had  dared 
to  excommunicate  her  father.  But  the  critic  did  not  think  that  the  pope 
had  excommunicated  the  King  of  England,  Henry  VIII,  only  because  he 
was  more  in  dread  of  Charles  V.  It  is  not  the  only  fault  in  this  extract 
of  Trevoux,  whose  author,  disapproved  and  condemned  by  the  greater  part 
of  his  confreres,  has  put  into  his  censures,  perhaps,  more  abuse  than 
reason. 


L 


THE    HENRIADE. 


CANTO  IV. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

D'Aumale  is  upon  the  point  of  being  master  of  Henry  the  Third's  camp, 
when  the  hero,  returning  from  England,  engages  the  Leaguers  and 
changes  the  fortune  of  the  day. 

Discord  comforts  Mayne,  and  flies  to  Kome  for  succors.  Description  of 
Eome.  Discord  meets  with  Policy.  She  returns  with  her  to  Paris, 
causes  an  insurrection  of  the  Sorhonne ;  animates  the  Sixteen  against  the 
Parliament,  and  arms  the  Monks.    Troubles  and  confusion  in  Paris. 


CANTO  THE  FOURTH. 


While  thus  sequester'd  from  the  train  of  state, 
Their  glorious  interests  sagely  they  debate, 
At  leisure  o'er  the  princely  science  stray, 
Combat  and  conquest  and  imperial  sway  ; 
The  Seine  with  terror  saw  the  chiefs,  combined, 
Spread  on  his  banks  their  banners  to  the  wind. 

Anxious  the  king,  from  Henry  distant  far, 
Bewail'd  the  uncertain  destiny  of  war ; 
His  cheering  aid,  irresolute,  he  needs, 
For  victory  follows  still  where  Bourbon  leads. 
With  triumph  the  confederate  bands  beheld 
His  weak  dismay,  and  eager  sought  the  field ; 
D'Aumale  the  haughty,  Nemours  and  Brissac, 
Free  souled  Saint  Paul,  la  Chatre,  Canillac, 
Rebellious  chieftains,  fiU'd  with  fresh  alarms 
The  royal  witness  of  their  conquering  arms. 
And  prone  to  change,  and  hasty  to  repent. 
He  mourns  his  absence,  whom  himself  had  sent. 

Long,  with  these  traitors  to  their  lawful  lord, 
Joyeuse's  young  brother '  drew  the  factious  sword  ; 

1  Henry,  count  de  BouChage,  younger  brother  of  the  Duke  de  Joyeuse, 
slain  at  Coutras. 

One  morning,  at  four  o'clock,  while  passing  the  convent  of  the  Capu- 
cliins,  on  his  way  to  Paris,  after  spending  the  night  in  a  debauch,  he  im- 
agined that  he  heard  the  angels  singing  matins  in  the  convent.     Struck 


1.12  .  TIIK    IIKNEIADE. 

By  turns  a  soldier  and  a  saint  was  lio, 

Now  bent  on  arms,  and  now  a  devotee, — 

Preferr'd,  as  when  inclined  liis  various  soul, 

He  took,  resign'd,  resumed  the  helmet  and  the  cowl. 

He  left  the  scenes  of  penitence  and  tears 

To  bark  sedition  in  the  Leaguers'  ears, 

And  bathed  remorseless  in  his  country's  blood, 

The  hand  just  then  devoted  to  his  God. 

Of  all  the  chiefs,  for  valor  most  renown'd, 
Whose  prowess  shed  despair  and  horror  round, 
Whose  puissant  arms  the  boldest  might  appall. 
The  first  in  feats  of  glory  was  D]Aiya*aljQ. 
Sprung  from  the  far-famed  heroes  of  Lorraine, 
King,  laws,  and  peace  alike  were  his  disdain ; 
The  noblest  youths  his  daring  steps  pursue, 
With  them  incessant  to  the  field  he  flew — 
Now  in  still  march,  now  shouting  from  afar, 
By  day,  by  night,  he  urged  the  various  war, 
Assail'd  the  unguarded  foe  on  every  side. 
And  with  their  blood  the  dusty  champaign  dyed. 
So  from  proud  Athos  or  Imaus  height. 
Where  earth,  sea,  air,  lie  strctch'd  before  the  sight, 
With  headlong  speed  the  rapid  eagle  flies, 
And  vultures  dart  along  the  gloomy  skies  ; 
With  hungry  beaks  the  feather'd  spoil  they  rend. 
Resistless  on  the  bleating  flocks  descend, 


with  this  idea,  he  became  a  Capuchin,  imder  the  name  of  Brother  Angel. 
Afterwards,  he  quitted  his  habit,  and  took  up  arms  against  Henry  IV. 
The  Duke  de  Mayenne  made  him  governor  of  Languedoc,  duke  and  peer, 
and  marshal  of  France.  Finally  he  effected  a  reconciliation  with  the  king ; 
but  this  prince  being  one  day  with  him  on  a  balcony,  under  which  a  great 
many  people  were  assembled,  Henry  IV  said  to  him,  "  My  cousin,  these 
people  seem  very  glad  to  see  an  apostate  and  a  renegade  together."  This 
npeech  caused  Joyense  to  re-enter  his  convent,  where  he  died. 


THE    HENRIADE 


If  U .' 


yiii!^ 


And  soaring  to  their  airy  cliffs,  convey, 
With  screams  of  cruel  joy,  the  living  prey. 


Fired,  on  a  time,  and  frantic  with  the  thirst 
Of  glory,  to  the  royal  tent  he  pierced ; 
Dark  was  the  night  and  sudden  the  surprise ; 
Throughout  the  camp  a  direful  panic  flies. 
And  like  a  torrent  that  o'erleaps  its  bound, 
Ilis  arms  victorious  threaten  all  around. 
But  when  the  morning  star  began  to  burn, 
Came  Mornay  to  announce  his  lord's  return  ; 
With  joyful  speed  the  impatient  chief  drew  near, 
When  the  rough  din  smote  loudly  on  his  ear. 
Amazed  he  flies,  sees  terror  and  distress 
In  the  king's  troops,  nor  e'en  in  Bourbon's  less. 
"  And  are  you  vanquish'd,  and  is  this,"  he  cried, 
"  Is  this  the  glorious  welcome  you  provide 
For  Henry,  for  your  Henry  ?"     At  that  name 
Their  hearts  were  flush'd  again  with  valor's  flame. 
So  when  the  Sabin  arms  drove  trembling  home, 
E'en  to  the  capitol,  the  bands  of  Kome, 
His  guardian  God  their  mighty  founder  hail'd. 
And  in  the  name  of  Stator  Jove  prevail'd. 
"  Let  him,"  they  cry,  "  let  Henry  lead  the  fight. 
And  we  must  conquer  in  our  ^Jt^qr-y's  sight." 
Keen  as  the  flash,  that  cleaves  the  stormy  cloud, 
In  tlie  mid-camp  the  dazzling  hero  stood. 
Impetuous  to  the  foremost  ranks  he  flies. 
Death  in  his  hand,  and  lightning  in  his  eyes. 
The  ambitious  chiefs  crowd  fast  around  his  shield  : 
At  once  he  shifts  the  fortune  of  the  field. 
His  stern  approach  the  pale  confederates  shun, 
As  stars  diminish'd  fade  before  the  sun. 
D'Aumale,  enraged,  tries  every  art,  in  vain, 


114:  THE   HENRIADE. 

To  rally  their  disorder'd  files  again ; 
His  voice  awhile  their  timorous  flight  withheld, 
But  Henry's  drove  them  headlong  o'er  the  field. 
His  awful  front  strikes  terror  through  the  foe, 
Their  chief  unites  them,  but  their  fears  o'crthrow. 
Till  e'en  D'Auraale,  reluctant  borne  along. 
Obeys  the  o'erwhelming  torrent  of  the  throng. 
Encumber'd  thus  with  many  a  winter's  snow, 
Some  rock  forsakes  the  mountain's  lofty  brow, 
And,  wrapt  in  sheets  of  ice,  rolls  o'er  the  vale  below. 

He  shows  to  the  besieging  powers  around 
His  front,  so  long  with  matchless  glory  crown'd ; 
Bursts  through  the  armed  crowd,  and,  loathing  life. 
Seeks  in  despair  once  more  the  mortal  strife ; 
Restrains  awhile  the  victor's  rapid  course. 
Till  weak,  and  baflled  by  superior  force, 
Each  moment  he  expects  the  fatal  meed. 
Death,  the  just  wages  of  his  hardy  deed. 

But  Discord,  for  her  darling  chief  afraid. 
Flies  swift  to  save  him,  for  she  needs  his  aid. 
Between  her  champion  and  the  foe  she  held 
Her  massy,  broad,  impenetrable  shield. 
Whose  sight,  or  rage,  or  terror  can  convey. 
Omen  of  death,  and  meteor  of  dismay. 
Offspring  of  Hell !  from  her  infernal  cave 
Then  first  she  came,  to  succor  and  to  save ; 
Then  first  her  hand,  dire  instrument  of  death, 
Redeem'd  from  instant  fate  a  hero's  breath. 
Forth  from  the  field,  her  votary,  cover'd  o'er 
"With  wounds,  unfelt  amid  his  toil,  she  bore. 
His  anguish  with  a  lenient  hand  allay'd, 
And  staunch'd  the  blood  that  in  her  cause  was  shed. 


THE   HENRIADE.  115 

But  while  her  labors  to  liis  limbs  impart 
Their  wonted  health,  her  venom  taints  his  heart. 
Thus  tyrants  oft,  with  treacherous  pity,  stay 
The  wretch's  doom,  and  spare  but  to  betray ; 
Act  by  his  arm  the  purpose  of  their  hate, 
And  that  accomplish'd,  yield  him  to  his  fate. 

Bold  to  achieve,  nor  fraught  with  wisdom  less 
To  catch  the  auspicious-  moment  of  success. 
Victorious  Henry  urged  the  important  blow, 
And  with  new  fury  press'd  the  astonish'd  foe. 
Close  in  their  walls  their  dire  disgrace  they  mourn, 
And  dread  the  assault,  and  tremble  in  their  turn. 
Even  Yalois  now,  to  martial  deeds  inspired 
The  troops,  himself,  by  Henry's  actions  fired. 
Laughs  at  all  pain,  despises  all  alarms. 
And  owns  e'en  toil  and  danger  have  their  charms. 
No  secret  feuds  the  jarring  chiefs  confound. 
Their  brave  attempts  are  all  with  glory  crown'd ; 
Horror,  where'er  they  march,  their  way  prepares ; 
The  ramparts  tremble,  and  the  foe  despairs. 

Where  now  shall  Mayne,  deep  sorrowing,  seek  redress  1 
His  troops,  a  people  groaning  in  distress ! 
Tlie  weeping  orphan  here  her  sire  demands ; 
There  brethren  claim  their  brother  at  his  hands ; 
Each  mourns  the  present,  dreads  the  future  most, 
And  disaffection  rends  the  murmuring  host. 
Some  counsel  flight,  surrender  some  prefer, 
But  all  unanimous  renounce  the  war ; 
So  light  the  feeble  vulgar,  and  so  near 
Their  headstrong  rashness  is  allied  to  fear. 
Tlieir  ruin  he  beheld  already  wTought ; 
A  thousand  plans  perplex  his  laboring  thought ; 


116  THE   HENRIADE. 

When  Discord,  by  her  snaky  locks  confess'd, 
Stood  forth  reveal'd,  and  thus  the  chief  addressM  : 

"  August  descendant  of  an  awful  line, 
Whose  vengeful  cause  unites  thee  firm  to  mine ; 
Form'd  by  my  counsel,  nursed  beneath  my  care. 
Know  thy  protectress,  and  her  voice  revere ! 
Shall  wretches  base  as  these  thy  fears  excite  ? 
Who  freeze  with  horror  at  a  loss  so  slight. 
Slaves  of  my  power,  and  vassals  of  my  will. 
Even  now  our  great  designs  they  shall  fulfil ; 
Let  but  my  breath  their  dastard  bosoms  fire. 
They  court  the  combat,  and  with  joy  expire." 

She  spoke,  and  rapid  as  the  lightning's  flight. 
Glanced  through  the  clouds,  and  vanisli'd  from  his  sight. 
Around  the  French  she  saw  confusion  lower. 
And  hail'd  the  sight,  and  bless'd  the  welcome  hour ; 
The  teeming  earth  grew  barren  as  she  pass'd. 
And  the  bright  blossoms  wither'd  at  the  blast ; 
Flat  in  the  furrow  lay  the  blighted  ear. 
The  heavens  grew  black,  the  very  stars  look'd  drear — 
Beneath  her  burst  the  thunder's  sullen  sound. 
And  death-like  horror  seized  the  nations  round. 

Dark  scowling  o'er  the  flowery  vales  below, 
A  whirlwind  snatch'd  her  to  the  banks  of  Po. 

Towards  Rome,  at  length,  her  baleful  eye  she  /oll'd, 
Rome,  the  world's  dread,  and  Discord's  fane  of  old — 
Imperial  Rome,  by  destiny  design'd. 
In  peace,  in  war,  the  mistress  of  mankind. 
By  conquest  first  she  stretch'd  her  wide  domain. 
And  all  earth's  monarclis  wore  her  galling  chain  ; 


THE    IIENRIADE.  117 

On  arms  alone  her  solid  empire  grew, 
And  the  world  crouch'd  where'er  her  eagle  flew. 
More  peaceful  art  her  modern  rule  supports, 
Now  e'en  her  conquerors  tremble  in  her  courts ; 
Deep  rooted  in  their  hearts  her  power  she  sees, 
And  needs  no  thunder  but  her  own  decrees. 

High  on  that  gorgeous  wreck  of  ancient  war, 
Where  Mars,  for  ages,  drove  his  rattling  car, 
A  pontiff  now  maintains  his  priestly  state, 
And  fills  the  throne  where  once  the  Caesars  sate. 
There  wandering,  heedless  of  the  mighty  dead, 
Monastic  feet  on  Cato's  ashes  tread. 
On  God's  own  altar  there  the  throne  they  raise, 
And  one  despotic  hand  the  cross  and  sceptre  sways. 

There  first  His  infant  Church  the  Almighty  placed. 
By  turns  with  zeal  rejected,  or  embraced ; 
There  Heaven's  high  will  His  first  apostle  taught. 
In  native  truth  and  singleness  of  thought. 
Nor  his  successors  meaner  praise  acquired. 
And  they  were  honor'd  most,  who  least  aspired ; 
No  foppery  then  their  modest  brow  adorn'd. 
All  praise  but  virtue ;  wealth  by  all  was  scorn'd ; 
They  flew  with  rapture  from  their  low  abode. 
To  die  triumphant  in  the  cause  of  God. 
Depraved,  at  length,  they  scorn'd  their  humble  state. 
And  Heaven,  for  man's  offences,  made  them  great ; 
Ambition  then  profaned  the  sacred  shrine. 
And  human  power  was  grafted  on  divine  ; 
The  lurking  dagger  and  the  poisoning  bowl, 
Were  the  dark  basis  of  their  new  control. 
Vicegerents  of  the  Lord,  his  holy  place 
With  brutal  lust  they  blush'd  not  to  disgrace, 


118  THE   HKNEIADE. 

'Till  Rome,  opprcss'd  beneath  their  hateful  reign, 

Sigh'd  for  her  gods  and  pagan  rites  again. 

A  wiser  race  more  modern  times  beheld, 

Who  crimes  like  these  or  wrought  not,  or  conceal'd : 

Then  kings  appeal'd  to  Rome's '  decisive  power. 

And  chose  their  umpire,  whom  they  fear'd  before. 

Humility  once  more  and  meekness  shone 

Renew'd,  beneath  the  proud  pontific  crown. 

To  govern  mankind  in  these  later  days, 

Is  Rome's  chief  virtue,  and  her  worthiest  praise. 

Now  in  the  pomp  of  apostolic  state 
Supreme,  and  crown'd  with  empire,  Sixtus  sate ; ' 
If  fraud  and  churlish  insolence  might  claim 
Renown,  no  monarch  bore  a  fairer  name. 
Long  time  he  skulk'd  beneath  the  driveller's  part 
Disguised,  and  owed  his  greatness  to  his  art ; 
Long  seem'd  unworthy  what  he  sigh'd  to  gain. 
And  shunn'd  it  long,  the  surer  to  obtain. 

Deep  in  his  palace,  secret  and  unseen. 
Dwelt  dark-veil'd  Policy,  mysterious  queen ; 
Unsocial  Interest  and  Ambition  join'd, 
Of  yore,  to  spawn  this  pest  of  human  kind. 
Her  smiles  a  free  untroubled  soul  express'd. 
Though  cares  unnumber'd  swarm'd  within  her  breast : 
Keen  were  her  haggard  eyes,  nor  knew  to  close 
Their  wakeful  lids,  nor  would  admit  repose. 
Thick  woven  films  o'er  Europe's  sight  she  spreads, 


'  See  History  of  tTie  Popes. 

9  Sixtus  V,  while  Cardinal  Montalto,  counterfeited  imbecility  so  well, 
for  the  space  of  about  fifteen  years,  that  he  was  commonly  called  The  Ass 
of  Ancona.  It  is  well  known  how  artfully  he  obtained  the  papal  chair,  and 
how  haughtily  he  reigned. 


THE    IIENRTADK. 


119 


Confounds  her  counsels,  and  her  kings  misleads ; 

Calls  truth  itself  to  testify  a  fraud, 

And  stamps  imposture  with  the  seal  of  God. 

When  first  the  phantom  Discord  met  her  view, 
With  instant  rapture  to  her  arms  she  flew ; 
Then  smiled  a  ghastly  grin,  but  sighing  soon. 
As  one  o'erwhelm'd  with  sorrow,  thus  begun : 
"  I  see,  alas !  those  happy  times  no  more. 
When  thoughtless  multitudes  adored  my  power — 
When  Europe,  credulous,  obey'd  my  laws. 
And  mix'd  with  mine  religion's  sacred  cause. 
I  spoke,  and  kings  from  their  exalted  seat 
Came  trembling  down,  and  worshipp'd  at  my  feet ; 
High  on  the  echoing  Vatican  I  stood, 
And  breathed  my  wars,  and  launch'd  my  storms  abroad. 
E'en  life  and  death  confess'd  my  proud  domain. 
And  monarchs  reign'd  by  me,  or  ceased  to  reign. 
Now  France '  subdues  my  lightnings,  e'er  they  fly, 
And,  quench'd  and  smother'd,  in  my  grasp  they  die. 
Eeligion's  friend,  she  thwarts  my  slighted  arms. 
And  breaks  my  philters,  and  dispels  my  charms ; 
Truth's  borrow'd  guise  in  vain  did  I  display, 
She  first  discern'd,  and  tore  the  mask  away. 
But  oh !  what  joy  !  could  I  delude  her  now, 
At  least  avenge  my  sufferings  on  my  foe. 
Come  then,  my  lightnings,  with  thy  torch  restore. 
And  France  shall  feel  us,  and  the  world  once  more ; 

1  la  1570,  the  parliament  issued  a  famous  proclamation  against  tlie  bull 
In  Coena  Domini. 

All  are  familiar  with  its  celebrated  remonstrances  under  Louis  X'l  on 
the  subject  of  pragmatic  sanction ;  Avith  those  which  it  made  to  Henry  III 
against  the  scandalous  bull  of  Sixtus  V,  which  called  the  reigning  house  a 
generation  of  bastards,  and  with  its  constant  firmness  in  sustaining  our  lib- 
erties against  the  pretensions  of  the  court  of  Rome. 


120  THE    IIKNRIADE. 

Our  bonds,  again,  earth's  haughty  lords  shall  wear, 
Again" — she  spoke,  and  pierced  the  yielding  air. 

Remote  from  Rome,  where  vanity  and  pride 
In  temples  sacred  to  themselves  reside, 
Conceal'd  from  sight,  within  her  humble  cell. 
Religion,  pensive  maid,  delights  to  dwell. 
There  angels  hover  round  her  calm  abode. 
And  waft  her  raptures  to  the  throne  of  God. 
Meanwhile,  the  sanction  of  her  injured  name, 
The  oppressor's  wrong  and  tyrant's  fury  claim  ; 
Yet,  doom'd  to  suffer,  no  revenge  she  knows. 
But  melts  in  silent  blessings  on  her  foes : 
Her  artless  charms  their  modest  lustre  shroud 
Forever  from  the  vain  tumultuous  crowd, 
Who  without  faith  their  impious  vows  prefer, 
And  pray  to  Fortune,  while  they  kneel  to  her. 
In  Henry  she  beheld  her  future  son. 
And  knew  the  Fates  had  mark'd  him  for  her  own ; 
With  sighs  to  speed  the  destined  hour  she  strove, 
And  view'd  and  watch'd  him  with  a  seraph's  love. 

Sudden  the  fiends  their  awful  foe  surprise ; 
The  captive  lifts  to  heaven  her  streaming  eyes ; 
In  vain, — for  heaven,  to  prove  her  virtue  sure 
And  stedfast  faith,  resigns  her  to  their  power. 
Soon,  in  her  snowy  veil  and  holy  weeds. 
The  monsters  muffle  their  detested  heads, 
Then,  fired  with  hope,  and  glorying  in  their  might, 
Stretch  swift  to  Paris  their  impetuous  flight. 

Deep  in  the  Sorbonne,  in  august  debate. 
The  sage  expounders  of  heaven's  dictates  sate. 
Their  faith  unshaken,  loyalty  unfeign'd, 


y 


THE   HENRI ADE.  121 

The  judges  and  the  examples  of  the  land  ; 

Sway'd  by  no  error,  by  no  fear  controll'd, 

Each  bore  an  upright  heart,  was  raasculine  and  bold. 

Alas !  what  human  virtue  never  errs, — 

Behold  the  tempter !  Policy  appears  ; 

Smooth  was  the  melting  flattery  of  her  tongue, 

And  on  her  artful  lips  persuasion  hung. 

The  dazzling  mitre  and  the  sweeping  train. 

With  ease  allure  the  ambitious  and  the  vain ; 

With  secret  bribes  the  raiser's  voice  she  buys, 

With  decent  praise,  the  learned  and  the  wise ; 

From  each  his  virtue  by  some  art  she  stole, 

And  shook  with  sounding  threats  the  coward's  soul. 

Their  counsels  now  with  riot  they  disgrace, 
Truth  heard  the  din,  alarm'd,  and  fled  the  place. 
When  thus  a  sage  the  general  voice  express'd  : 
"Kings  are  the  creatures  of  the  Church  confess'd; 
Chastised  or  pardon'd,  as  her  laws  decree  : 
That  Church,  and  guardians  of  those  laws,  are  we ; 
AnnuU'd  and  cancell'd  are  the  vows'  we  swore  : 
Such  is  our  will,  and  Valois  reigns  no  more." 
Scarce  was  the  cursed  decree  pronounced  aloud, 
When  ruthless  Discord  copied  it  in  blood, 
And  sign'd  and  sworn  the  fatal  record  stood. 

Then  swift  from  church  to  church,  with  eager  speed, 

^  On  the  seventh  of  January,  1589,  the  Theologic  Faculty  of  Paris  pub- 
lished the  famous  decree  by  which  it  declared  that  the  subjects  were 
released  from  their  oath  of  fidelity,  and  could  legitimately  make  war 
against  the  king.  Le  Fevre,  a  dean,  and  some  of  the  wisest  of  them,  re- 
fused to  sign  this  decree.  As  soon  as  the  Sorbonne  was  free,  it  revoked 
this  decree,  which  the  tyranny  of  the  League  had  torn  from  some  of  the 
members  of  its  body.  All  the  religious  orders  that,  like  the  Sorbonne, 
had  declared  against  the  royal  house,  like  it  retracted.  But  if  the  house  of 
Lorraine  had  held  the  supremacy,  would  they  have  retracted  ? 

6 


122  THE    IIENlilADE. 

The  fiend  divulges  their  adventurous  deed ; 
Where'er  she  came  lier  saintly  garb  bespoke 
Esteem,  and  sage  and  holy  was  her  look. 
Forth  from  their  gloomy  cells  she  calls  amain 
The  meager  slaves  of  voluntary  pain ; 
"  Behold  in  me  Religion's  self,"  she  cries ; 
"  Assert  my  rights  and  let  your  zeal  arise ; 
'Tis  I  approach  you,  'tis  my  voice  you  hear ; 
For  proof,  mark  well  the  flaming  sword  I  bear. 
Of  temper'd  lightning  is  that  edge  divine. 
And  God's  own  hand  intrusted  it  to  mine. 
Emerge,  my  children,  from  this  silent  gloom. 
The  time  for  action  now  and  high  exploit  is  come. 
Go  forth,  and  teach  the  lukewarm,  wavering  crowd, 
To  slay  their  king,  if  they  would  serve  their  God. 
Think  how  the  ministry  by  special  grace 
Was  given  of  old  to  Levi's  holy  race  ; 
Jehovah's  self  pronounced  that  glory  due 
To  their  deserts,  when  Israel's  sons  they  slew. 
Where  are,  alas  !  those  times  of  triumph  fled. 
When  by  the  brother's  arm  the  victim  bled  ? 
Ye  priests  devout,  your  spirit  was  their  guide, 
'Twas  by  your  hands  alone  Coligni  died ; 
'Tvvas  then  the  slaughter  raged — go  forth,  explain 
My  voice  abroad,  and  let  it  rage  again." 

She  spoke,  and  waved  the  signal ;  every  heart 
Tlirobb'd  with  the  poison  of  the  beldam's  art. 
To  Paris  next  their  solemn  march  she  led. 
High  o'er  the  midst  the  banner'd '  cross  was  spread  ; 

'  As  soon  as  Henry  III  and  the  King  of  Navarre  appeared  in  arms  before 
Paris,  the  greater  part  of  the  monks  put  on  the  cuirass,  and  performed 
military  duty  with  the  citizens.  In  this  part  of  the  poem,  however,  allu- 
sion is  made  to  the  procession  of  the  League,  -wherein  twelve  hundred 


THE    IIENKIADE.  123 

And  hymns  and  holy  songs  they  chant  aloud, 

As  if  by  heaven  their  cause  had  been  avow'd. 

E'en  on  their  knees  their  frenzy  they  declare, 

And  mix  a  pious  curse  in  every  prayer : 

Bold  in  the  pulpit,  timorous  in  the  field. 

With  uncouth  arm  the  ponderous  sword  they  wield ; 

Their  penitential  shirts  the  zealots  hide 

Beneath  their  canker'd  armor's  clumsy  pride ; 

And  thus  the  inglorious  band  in  foul  array 

Through  tides  of  gazing  rabble  sped  their  way, 

While  high  in  effigy  portray'd  they  bore 

Their  God,  the  God  of  peace,  their  crazy  troop  before. 

Mayne  with  the  pomp  of  public  praise  adorn'd 
Their  wild  attempt,  which  in  his  heart  he  scorn'd ; 
For  well  he  knew  fanatic  rage  would  pass 
For  sound  religion  with  the  common  class ; 
Nor  wanted  he  the  princely  craft  to  court 
And  soothe  the  follies  of  the  meaner  sort. 
The  soldier  laugh'd,  the  sage  with  frowns  survey'd 
Their  antic  pageantry,  and  mad  parade, 
"  The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause," 
And  hail  the  reverend  bulwarks  of  their  cause. 
Their  daring  rashness  first  to  fear  gave  way. 
And  frenzy  now  succeeds  to  their  dismay. 
The  spirit  thus,  that  rules  the  obedient  main. 
Can  lull  the  waves  to  rest,  or  wake  the  storm  again. 

Now  Discord '  from  the  tribe  of  Yalois'  foes, 

monks  passed  in  review  in  Paris,  having  Gnillaame  Eose,  bishop  of  Senlis, 
at  their  head.  This  fact  has  been  placed  here,  although  it  did  not  take 
place  until  after  the  death  of  Henry  III. 

1  It  must  not  be  inferred  that  there  were  but  sixteen  seditious  individu- 
als, as  related  by  the  Abbe  Legendre  in  his  small  History  of  France^  but 
they  were  called  the  Sixteen  from  the  circumstance  of  their  controlling 


124:  THE    IIENRIADE. 

Twice  eight,  the  rankest  of  the  faction,  chose ; 
Slaves  of  the  queen,  who  yet  presumed  to  guide 
Tlie  car  of  state,  like  monarchs  at  her  side, 
AVhile  Prkje  and  Perfidy,  Revenue  and  Degih, 
With  streams  of  slaughter  mark'd  the  road  beneath. 
Mayne  blushed  to  see  the  paltiy  minions  stand 
So  near  himself,  his  equals  in  command  : 
But  fellowship  in  guilt  all  rank  destroys. 
As  great  the  wretch  who  serves,'  as  who  employs. 
So  when  the  winds,  fierce  tyrants  of  the  deep. 
The  Seine  or  Rhone  with  rapid  fury  sweep, 
Black  rises  from  below  the  stagnant  mud, 
And  stains  the  silver  surface  of  the  flood. 
So  when  the  flames  some  destined  town  invade, 
And  on  the  plain  the  smoking  towers  are  spread, 
The  mingling  metals  in  one  mass  are  roll'd. 
And  worthless  dross  incrusts  the  purest  gold. 

Xhfi.mis  alone,  uninfluenced  by  their  crimes, 
Escapes  the  foul  contagion  of  the  times ; 
With  her,  nor  hope  of  power  nor  fear  prevail. 
But  still  well  poised  she  trimm'd  the  steady  scale ; 
No  spots  the  lustre  of  her  shrine  impair. 
But  justice  finds  a  sacred  refuge  there. 

sixteen  quarters  of  Paris  by  means  of  their  emissaries.  They  at  first 
placed  at  their  head  sixteen  of  the  most  factious  of  their  body.  The  most 
noted  were  Bussi-le-Clerc,  governor  of  the  Bastile ;  la  Bruyere,  lieutenant ; 
the  commissary  Louchart ;  Emmonot  and  Morin,  attorneys ;  Oudinet, 
Passart,  and  above  all,  Senault,  clerk  of  the  parliament,  a  man  of  great  in- 
tellect, who  first  developed  the  obscure  and  dangerous  question  concerning 
the  power  which  a  nation  has  over  its  king.  I  will  say,  in  passing,  that 
Senault  was  the  father  of  P.  J.  F.  Senault,  that  eloquent  man  who  died 
general  of  the  priests  of  the  Oratory  in  France. 

1  The  Sixteen  were,  for  a  long  time,  independent  of  the  Duke  de  May- 
enne.  One  of  them  named  Normand,  said,  one  day,  in  the  chamber  ol 
the  duke  :  "  Those  who  made  him  could  very  easily  unmake  him." 


THE   HENRIADE.  125 

There,  foes  to  vice,  and  equity  their  guide, 
An  awful  s-enate  o'er  the  laws  preside. 
With  patriot  candor  watchful  to  secure 
The  people's  privilege  and  monarch's  power; 
True  to  the  crown  yet  anxious  for  the  State, 
Tyrants  alike  and  rebels  are  their  hate  ; 
Firm  their  allegiance  still,  though  free  and  brave, 
They  scorn  to  link  the  subject  to  the  slave. 
Eome  and  the  Roman  power,  full  well  they  know, 
Know  to  respect  it,  and  to  curb  it  too. 

Chosen  from  the  League,  a  furious  troop  beset 
The  portal,  and  invade  the  still  retreat : 
B^ggy,  than  whom  no  chief  might  better  claim 
That  bad  pre-eminence,  their  leader  came  ; 
And  thus  the  ruflSan,  proud  of  the  command 
He  bore,  bespoke  the  venerable  band  : 

"  Ye,  who  for  pay  the  law's  vile  drudgery  bear, 
And  doze  and  dream,  plebeians  as  you  are. 
Of  kings  committed  to  your  guardian  care, — 
Yet  still  when  public  feuds  and  broils  prevail. 
Hold  the  mean  trapping  of  your  rank  for  sale, — 
Timorous  in  war,  in  peace  a  blustering  train. 
Hear  what  your  lords,  the  commonwealth,  ordain. 
Societies  were  form'd  ere  kings  were  made ; 
"We  claim  the  rights  our  ancestors  betray'd ; 
The  people,  whom  your  arts  enslaved  before, 
Discern  the  cheat,  and  will  be  slaves  no  more. 
Truce  with  the  pomp  of  titles  then,  away 
With  every  sound  of  arbitrary  sway, 
Judge  in  the  people's  name,  and  be  alone 
Friends  of  the  State,  not  bondsmen  of  the  throne." 


120  THE  HENRI ADE. 

He  spoke,  and  scorn  appear'd  in  every  eye ; 
Nor  censure  else  vouclisafed  they,  or  reply. 
So  when  of  old,  within  her  ruin'd  wall, 
Rome  in  dismay  received  the  conquering  Gaul, 
Undaunted  still  her  awful  senate  sate. 
Calm  as  in  peace,  nor  trembled  at  their  fate. 

"  Tyrants,"  he  cried  with  fury,  though  not  free 
From  secret  dread,  "  obey  or  follow  me." 
Then,  famed  for  worth  and  fearless  of  his  foes, 
Their  honor'd  chief,  illustrious  Harlay  rose. 
And  claim'd  his  fetters  with  so  stern  a  tone. 
As  for  their  hands  he  sought  them,  not  his  own. 
At  once  his  hoary  brethren  of  the  laws. 
Ambitious  victims  in  the  royal  cause, 
And  proud  to  share  their  Ilarlay's  glorious  pains. 
With  outstretch'd  arms'  received  the  traitor's  chains. 
Repeat,  O  Muse !  those  names  by  France  e'er  bless'd, 
Those  men  enshrine  whom  lawlessness  oppress'd ; 
The  virtuous  Tliou,^  Scarron,  Mole,  Bayeul, 

1  On  the  16th  of  January,  1589,  Bussi-le-Clerc,  one  of  the  Sixteen,  who, 
from  a  fencing-master,  became  governor  of  the  Bastile,  and  chief  of  this 
faction,  entered  the  chamber  of  parliament,  followed  by  fifty  satellites, 
and  presented  a  request,  or  rather  an  order  that  this  body  should  no  longer 
recognize  the  royal  house.  On  their  refusing  to  comply,  he  took  all  those 
who  were  opposed  to  his  party  to  the  Bastile,  and  there  kept  them  on 
broadband  water,  in  order  to  oblige  them  to  ransom  themselves  sooner 
from  his  hands.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  he  was  called  the  grand  peni- 
tentiary of  the  parliament. 

2  Augustin  de  Thou,  second  of  the  name,  was  the  uncle  of  the  celebrated 
historian. 

Mole  can  be  no  other  than  the  EdouardMole,  member  of  parliament,  who 
died  in  1634. 

Scarron  was  the  great-grandfather  of  the  famous  Scarron,  so  well  known 
by  his  poetical  writings  and  by  his  wit. 

Bayeul  was  the  uncle  of  the  superintendent  of  finances. 

Nicholas  Potier  de  Novion  de  Blancmenil,  president  of  the  parliament, 
received  the  name  of  Blancmenil  from  an  estate  so  called,  which  afterwards 
fell  to  the  house  of  Lamoignon,  by  the  marriage  of  his  grand-daughter  with 


THE   HENEIADE.  127 

That  just  man  Potier,  and  tlie  young  Longueil ! 
The  gathering  multitude  around  them  roars, 
And  crowds  attend  them  to  those  dreary  towers/ 
Where  vengeance,  undistinguishing  in  blood, 
Too  oft  confounds  the  guilty  and  the  good. 

Thus  sinks  the  State  beneath  their  lawless  power, 
The  Sorbonne's  fallen,  the  senate  is  no  more. 
But  why  this  throng  ?  that  universal  yell  ? 
The  fatal  scaffold,  and  the  torturing  wheel  ? 
Say  for  whose  punishment  this  pomp  design'd  ? 
For  theirs — the  first,  the  noblest  of  mankind. 
So  fare  the  just  in  Paris,  such  reward 
For  patriots  here  and  heroes  is  prepared. 
Brisson  !"^  Larcher  !  Tardif !  no  shame  invades 

President  de  Lamoignon.  Nicholas  Potier  was  not,  in  fact,  taken  to  the 
Bastile  with  the  other  members  of  parliament,  because,  on  that  day,  he 
was  not  in  the  chamber  ;  but  he  was  a  prisoner  in  the  Louvre  at  the  time 
Brisson  suffered  death.  A  similar  fate  was  resolved  upon  for  him.  He 
was  accused  of  holding  secret  correspondence  with  Henry  IV.  The  Sixteen 
proceeded  against  him  in  a  formal  manner,  in  order  that  there  might  be 
some  show  of  justice  on  their  side,  and  that  the  people  might  not  be  star- 
tled by  precipitated  executions,  which  were  regarded  as  assassinations. 

At  last,  as  Blancmenil  was  about  to  be  condemned  to  be  hung,  the  Duke 
de  Mayenne  returned  to  Paris.  This  prince  had  always  entertained  for  him 
a  veneration  which  could  not  be  refused  to  his  virtue  ;  he  went  in  person 
to  take  him  from  the  prison.  Blancmenil  fell  on  his  knees  before  him, 
and  said  :  "  My  lord,  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  my  life  ;  but  I  must  ask  a 
still  greater  benefit ;  it  is  to  permit  me  to  go  to  Henry  IV,  my  lawful  sove- 
reign. I  shall  regard  you  all  my  life  as  my  benefactor,  but  I  cannot  serve 
you  as  my  master."  The  Duke  de  Mayenne,  touched  by  this  speech,  raised 
him,  embraced  him,  and  sent  him  to  Henry  IV.  The  narrative  of  this  ad- 
venture, with  the  examination  of  Blancmenil,  are  still  among  the  papers  of 
the  present  President  de  Novion. 

Bussi-le-Clerc  had  been  at  first  a  fencing-master,  and  subsequently  a 
lawyer.  When  chance  and  the  evils  of  the  times  had  given  him  some 
credit,  he  took  the  surname  of  Bussi,  as  if  he  had  been  as  redoubtable  as 
the  famous  Bussi  d'Amboisc.  He  caused  himself,  moreover,  to  be  called 
Bussi  Grande-Puissance. 

1  The  Bastile. 

^  On  Friday,  November  15,  1591,  Barnabe  Brisson,  a  very  learned  man 
who  performed  the  duties  of  first  president  in  the  absence  of  Achille  de 


128  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Your  honest  fame,  nor  blusli  your  injured  shades; 
Your  fate  was  glorious,  and  whoe'er  like  you 
Dies  for  his  king,  shall  die  with  glory  too. 

O'erjoyM,  meanwhile,  and  revelling  in  blood, 
Amid  her  bands  triumphant  Discord  stood. 
Self-satisfied,  with  well-contented  air, 
She  saw  the  dire  effects  of  civil  war ; 
Saw  thousands  leagued  against  their  monarch's  life. 
Yet  even  themselves  divided  and  at  strife, 
Dupes  of  her  power,  and  servants  of  her  hate, 
Push  the  mad  war,  and  urge  their  country's  fate  ; 
Tumult  within,  and  danger  all  without, 
While  havoc  smote  the  realm,  and  march'd  it  round  about. 


Harlay,  with  Claude  Larclier  and  Jean  Tardif,  were  hung  from  a  beam  in 
the  little  Chatelet,  by  order  of  the  Sixteen.  It  should  be  observed  that 
Hamilton,  pastor  of  Saint-C6me,  a  furious  Leaguer,  arrested  Tardif  in  his 
own  house,  having  with  him  a  number  of  priests,  who  served  as  guards. 


THE    HEN^RIADE 


CANTO  V, 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  besieged  are  very  sharply  pressed.  Discord  persuades  Clement  to  go 
to  Paris,  and  assassinate  the  king.  He  is  conducted  by  Fanaticism, 
whom  Discord  calls  for  that  purpose  from  the  infernal  regions.  Sacri- 
fice of  the  Leaguers  to  the  spirits  of  Darkness.  Henry  HI  is  assassin- 
ated. Sentiments  of  Henry  IV  upon  the  occasion.  He  is  acknowledged 
king  of  France  by  the  army. 


CANTO  THE   FIFTH. 


Now  marching  on,  those  dread  machines  appear'd, 

Which  death  attended,  and  the  rebels  fear'd. 

A  hundred  mouths  pour'd  forth  the  rapid  balls, 

And  iron  tempests  rattled  on  the  walls. 

Now  were  employ'd  with  skill,  but  all  in  vain, 

The  zeal  of  party  and  the  wiles  of  Mayne. 

The  guards  of  Paris,  and  the  noisy  crowd, 

The  prating  doctors,  insolent  and  loud, 

Tried,  but  in  vain,  our  hero  to  subdue. 

Beneath  whose  feet  victorious  laurels  grew. 

By  Home  and  Philip  were  the  thunders  hurl'd ; 

But  Rome  diffused  no  terrors  through  the  world. 

His  native  sloth  the  old  Iberian  show'd. 

And  all  his  succors  were  too  late  bestow'd. 

Through  Gallia's  realms  the  plundering  troops  enjoy'd 

The  spoils  of  cities,  which  their  arms  destroy'd. 

An  easy  conquest  o'er  oppress'd  allies 

Was  first,  and  fairest  in  the  traitor's  eyes. 

The  falling  League  but  waited  to  receive 

Whate'er  the  pride  of  tyranny  could  give, 

When  Fate,  that  governs  with  supreme  command, 

Appear'd  suspended  by  a  zealot's  hand. 

Forgive,  ye  citizens,  whose  peaceful  days 
Are  calm,  and  brighten'd  by  serener  rays — 


132  Tin;  hinkiade. 

Forgive  the  bard  who  paints  the  horrid  crimes 
That  stain'd  the  annals  of  preceding  times. 
Yourselves  unsullied  may  the  lays  approve, 
Whose  hearts  are  warm  with  loyalty  and  love. 

In  every  age,  some  venerable  seer, 
For  heaven's  pure  joys  has  shed  the  pious  tear ; 
Some  rigid  anchorites,  with  vows  divine, 
Have  heap'd  their  incense  on  religion's  shrine : 
Lost  to  the  world,  to  each  idea  lost 
That  friendship  loves,  or  charity  can  boast. 
Their  gloomy  shades,  and  cloisters  ever  rude, 
Tlie  beams  of  fair  humanity  exclude. 
Others  in  flowing  periods  have  display'd 
Religion's  truths  by  learning's  powerful  aid. 
In  some,  ambition  has  produced  desires 
Mean,  and  unw^orthy  virtue's  sacred  fires. 
Oft  have  their  schemes  extended  far  and  wide, 
And  all  their  piety  been  sunk  in  pride. 
Thus  by  perverse,  untoward  abuses,  still. 
The  highest  good  becomes  the  greatest  ill. 
Those  who  the  life  of  Dominic^  embraced. 
In  Spain  with  wreaths  of  glory  have  been  graced  ; 
From  mean  employments  where  they  toil'd  unknown, 
Have  reach'd  the  very  footsteps  of  the  throne. 
In  France  they  flourish'd,  in  the  days  of  yore, 
With  equal  zeal,  but  far  unequal  power. 
The  kindly  patronage,  from  kings  derived, 
Might  still  attend  them  had  not  Clement  lived. 
The  soul  of  Clement,"  gloomy,  and  austere, 

>  Dominic,  who  was  born  at  Calaliorra,  in  Aragon,  founded  the  order  of 
the  Dominicans  in  1215, 

2  Jacques  Clement,  of  the  order  of  the  Dominicans,  and  a  native  of  Sor- 
bonne,  a  village  near  Sens,  Avas  twenty-four  and  a  half  years  of  age,  and 


THE   HENKIADE.  133 

Was  form'd  to  virtues  rigid,  and  severe  : 
Soon  as  the  torrent  of  rebellion  flow'd, 
The  tide  he  follow'd,  and  pronounced  it  good. 
Fell  Discord  rising,  had  profusely  shed 
Infernal  poisons  o'er  his  youthful  head. 
The  long-drawn  aisle,  and  venerable  shrine 
Witness  what  prayers  fatigued  the  Power  Divine. 
This  was  their  form,  before  the  throne  of  grace, 
While  dust  and  ashes  sanctified  his  face  : 

"  Almighty  Being,  whose  avenging  arm 
Protects  religion,  and  her  sons  from  harm, 
How  long  shall  justice  sleep,  or  tyrants  live. 
The  perjured  flourish,  and  oppression  thrive  ? 
Let  us,  O  God,  Thy  gracious  mercies  tell. 
Thy  fiery  scourges  let  the  sinner  feel. 
Dispel  death's  horrid  gloom,  assist  the  brave, 
And  crush  the  tyrant,  whom  Thy  fury  gave. 
Send  Thy  destroying  angel  from  above. 
Descend  in  flames,  and  let  Thy  thunders  move. 
Descend,  and  quell  the  sacrilegious  host. 
Defeat  their  triumphs,  and  confound  their  boast. 
Let  ruin  seize.  Great  Sovereign  Lord  of  all ! 
Kings,  chiefs,  and  armies  in  one  common  fall : 
As  gathering  storms  the  leaves  of  Autumn  bear 
O'er  hills  and  valleys,  through  the  fields  of  air. 
The  League  shall  praise  Thy  name  with  holy  tongue, 
And  o'er  the  fallen  elevate  the  song." 


had  just  been  admitted  to  the  priesthood,  when  he  committed  this  par- 
ricide. 

The  fiction  so  prominent  in  the  fifth  canto,  and  which  will,  perhaps, 
appear  too  bold  to  some  readers,  is  not  new.  The  malice  of  the  Leaguers, 
and  the  fanaticism  of  the  monks  of  that  period,  caused  the  people  to  re- 
gard as  a  fact  what  is  here  only  an  invention  of  the  poet. 


134.  THE    imNRIADE. 

Discord,  attentive,  heard  his  hideous  cries, 
And  swift  to  Pluto's  dreary  regions  flics. 
From  those  dark  realms  the  worst  of  tyrants  came, 
Fanatic  Demon  is  his  horrid  name  : 
Religion's  son,  but  rebel  in  her  cause. 
He  tears  her  bosom,  and  disdains  her  laws. 
'Twas  he  that  guided  Ammon's  frantic  race. 
Where  silver  Arnon '  winds  his  liquid  maze — 
When  weeping  mothers,  with  mad  zeal  possess'd. 
Slew  their  fond  infants  clinging  to  the  breast. 
Through  him  rash  Jephtha  vow'd ;  the  fiend  imbrued 
The  father's  dagger  in  the  daughter's  blood. 
By  him  the  impious  Chalchas  was  inspired. 
And  tender  Iphigenia's  death  required. 
Thy  forests,  France,  the  cruel  power  approved ; 
There  smoked  the  incense  which  Teutates^  loved. 
Thy  shades  have  seen  the  human  victims  bleed. 
While  hoary  Druids  authorized  the  deed. 
From  Rome's  proud  capitol  he  gave  the  word. 
When  Christians  shudder'd  at  the  pagan  sword  : 
When  Rome  submitted  to  the  Son  of  God, 
High  o'er  the  Church  he  waved  his  iron  rod. 
Christians,  once  doom'd  to  feel  the  torturing  flame, 
Were  deaf  to  mercy,  and  unmoved  by  shame. 
On  Thames's  banks  the  seeds  of  faction^  grew, 
Whose  bloody  arm  the  feeble  monarch  slew. 
The  same  fierce  genius  fans  the  annual  fire 


*  The  countries  of  the  Ammonites,  who  cast  their  children  into  the 
flames,  at  the  sound  of  drums  and  trumpets,  in  honor  of  the  divinity 
whom  they  worshipped  under  the  name  of  Moloch. 

^  Teutates  was  one  of  the  gods  of  the  Gauls.  It  is  not  certain  that  he 
was  identical  with  Mercury ;  but  it  is  unquestionable  that  human  sacrifices 
were  made  to  him. 

3  The  enthusiasts,  who  were  called  Independents,  were  those  who  took 
the  principal  part  in  the  death  of  Charles  I,  king  of  England. 


THE   IIENKIADE.  135 

At  Lisbon,  or  Madrid,  wlien  Jews  expire  ; 
Unwilling  to  desert  the  cause  of  heaven. 
Or  quit  the  faith  their  ancestors  have  given. 

Like  some  high  priest,  his  part  the  demon  play'd, 
In  the  pure  vest  of  innocence  array'd. 
Now,  from  the  wardrobe  of  eternal  night, 
For  other  crimes  equipp'd,  he  sprung  to  light. 
Deceit,  forever  plausible  and  fair, 
Dress'd  him  like  Guise  in  person,  height,  and  air. 
The  haughty  Guise,  whose  artifice  alone 
Enchain'd  the  listless  monarch  on  his  throne, 
Whose  power  still  working,  like  some  fatal  star, 
Foreboded  ruin,  and  inspired  to  war. 
The  dreaded  helmet  glitter'd  on  his  head  ; 
The  sword,  prepared  for  every  murderous  deed. 
Flamed  in  his  hand ;  and  many  a  wound  could  tell 
How  once  at  Blois  the  factious  hero  fell. 
For  vengeance  calling  loud,  the  crimson  tide 
Fast  flow'd  in  copious  streams  adown  his  side. 
Clad  in  this  mournful  garb,  when  night  had  shed 
Her  peaceful  slumbers  over  Clement's  head. 
In  that  still  hour,  when  horrid  spectres  meet. 
He  sought  the  zealot  in  his  calm  retreat. 
Cabal,  and  Superstition,  nurse  of  sin, 
Unbarr'd  the  doors,  and  let  the  chieftain  in. 

"  Thy  prayers,"  he  cried,  "  the  powers  of  heaven  receive, 
But  more  than  tears,  or  prayers,  should  Clement  give. 
The  Leaguer's  God  will  other  offerings  claim. 
More  fit,  more  worthy  of,  his  holy  name. 
Far  other  incense  must  adorn  his  shrine ; 
Offerings  more  pure,  and  worship  more  divine. 
Had  Judith  only  wept  with  plaintive  sighs. 


130  THE   IIENRIADE. 

A  female^s  grief,  and  unavailing  cries — 

Had  life  been  dearer  than  her  country's  call, 

Judith  had  seen  Bethulia's  levell'd  wall. 

These  exploits  copy,  these  oblations  bring — 

Derive  thy  currents  from  that  sacred  spring. 

I  see  thee  blush ;  go,  fly  at  my  command. 

Let  royal  blood  now  consecrate  thy  hand. 

Set  wretched  Paris  from  her  tyrant  free. 

Revenging  Rome,  the  universe,  and  me. 

Go,  murder  Valois,  as  he  murder'd  Guise, 

Nor  deem  it  faulty  in  religion's  eyes. 

Who  guards  the  Church,  and  vindicates  her  laws, 

Is  bravely  acting  in  fair  virtue's  cause. 

When  heaven  commands,  then  every  deed  is  good  ; 

Attend  her  accents,  and  prepare  for  blood. 

Thrice  happy  couldst  thou  join  the  tyrant's  death 

To  Bourbon's  fall,  and  gain  a  nobler  wreath ! 

Oh,  could  thy  citizens  ! — but  fate  denies 

Thy  hand  the  honors  of  that  happy  prize. 

Yet,  should  thy  fame  with  rays  inferior  shine. 

Scorn  not  the  gift,  but  finish  heaven's  design." 

Thus  spoke  the  phantom,  and  unsheathed  the  blade, 
By  Hatred  once  in  Stygian  waters  laid. 
To  Clement's  hand  he  gave  the  fatal  steel. 
Then  swiftly  fled,  and  downward  sunk  to  hell. 
The  young  recluse,  too  easily  deceived. 
Himself  the  Almighty's  delegate  believed  ; 
Embraced  the  gift  with  reverential  love, 
And  begg'd  assistance  from  the  powers  above. 
The  fiend  no  superstitious  influence  spared. 
But  all  his  soul  for  parricide  prepared. 
How  apt  is  error  to  mislead  mankind  ! 
And  reason's  piercing  eye,  how  often  blind ! 


THE   IIENKIADE.  137 

The  raging  Clement,  happy,  and  at  ease, 
Happy  as  those  whom  truth  and  virtue  please  ; 
With  downcast  looks,  and  virtue's  clouded  brow. 
To  heaven  address'd  the  sacrilegious  vow.' 


1  A  narrative  of  the  martyrdom  of  brother  Jacques  Clement  was  pub- 
licly circulated,  wherein  it  was  asserted  that  an  angel  had  appeared  to  him, 
and,  displaying  a  naked  sword,  had  ordered  him  to  kill  the  tyrant.  The 
public  suspected  that  some  of  the  associates  of  Jacques  Clement,  taking 
advantage  of  the  weakness  of  the  wretched  man,  had  themselves  spoken 
to  him  during  the  night,  and  easily  troubled  his  head,  already  turned  by 
fasting  and  superstition.  However  this  may  have  been,  Clement  prepared 
himself  for  the  parricide  as  a  good  Christian  would  have  done  for  martyr- 
dom, by  mortifications  and  by  prayer.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that  he  con- 
sidered his  crime  a  righteous  act ;  and  he  is,  therefore,  represented  here 
as  a  weak-minded  man,  rather  than  as  a  wicked  man,  governed  by  his  evil 
propensities. 

Jacques  Clement  left  Paris  near  the  close  of  July,  1589,  and  was  taken  to 
Saint-Cloud  by  la  Guesle,  the  attorney-general.  The  latter,  suspecting 
some  evil  design  on  the  part  of  the  monk,  sent  a  person  during  the  night 
to  the  place  where  he  had  retired,  in  order  to  ascertain  how  he  was  em- 
ployed. The  monk  was  found  in  a  deep  sleep  :  his  breviary  was  beside 
him,  opened  at  the  chapter  on  the  murder  of  Holophernes  by  Judith, 
which  was  nearly  obliterated  by  finger-marks.  Care  has  been  taken  in  the 
poem  to  present  the  example  of  Judith  to  Jacques  Clement,  in  imitation 
of  the  preachers  of  the  League,  who  made  use  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  to 
justify  parricide. 

We  will  cite  here  a  passage  from  a  book  written  by  a  Dominican,  and 
printed  at  Troyes,  by  M.  Moreau,  a  short  time  after  the  death  of  Henry 
III: 

"  So  that  God,  hearing  the  prayer  of  one  of  his  servants,  named  Jacques 
Clement,  one  night,  as  he  was  in  bed,  sent  to  him  an  angel  in  a  vision, 
who  with  a  bright  light  presented  himself  to  this  religious,  and  showing 
to  him  a  naked  sword,  uttered  these  words :  '  Brother  Jacques,  I  am  a 
messenger  of  the  Almighty  God,  who  comes  to  declare  that  by  thee  the 
tyrant  of  France  must  be  put  to  death.  Think  of  thyself,  and  prepare 
thyself,  as  a  crown  of  martyrdom  is  also  prepared  for  thee.' 

"  This  said,  the  vision  disappeared,  and  left  him  to  ponder  upon  these 
veritable  words.  The  morning  having  come,  brother  Jacques  recalled  the 
apparition  of  the  previous  night ;  and,  doubtful  as  to  what  he  should  do, 
addressed  himself  to  one  of  his  religious  friends,  a  man  of  learning,  and 
well  versed  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  to  whom  he  declared  frankly  his  vision, 
asking  him,  moreover,  if  it  could  be  a  thing  agreeable  to  God  to  kill  a 
king  who  has  neither  faith  nor  religion,  and  who  seeks  only  to  oppress  his 
poor  subjects,  thirsting  for  innocent  blood,  and  steeped,  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, in  vices.     To  which  the  worthy  man  replied,  that,  truly,  we  were 


138  THE   HENRI ADE. 

On  as  he  rnarchM,  his  penitential  garb 

Conceal'd  from  view  the  parricidal  barb. 

The  fairest  flowers  each  conscious  friend  bestow'd, 

And  balmy  odors  to  perfume  the  road. 

These  guides,  in  counsel  or  in  praises,  join'd 

To  add  new  fervor  to  his  zealous  mind. 

The  holy  calendar  received  his  name, 

Equal  to  saints  in  virtue  and  in  fame. 

Now  hail'd  as  patron,  now  invoked  aloud, 

And  fed  with  incense  by  the  kneeling  crowd. 

Transports  less  warm,  less  moving  raptures  fired 

The  Christian  heroes,  and  their  souls  inspired, 

When  pious  brethren  were  consign'd  to  death, 

Firm  and  intrepid  to  their  latest  breath. 

They  kiss'd  each  footstep,  thought  each  torture  gain, 

And  wish'd  to  feel  each  agonizing  pain. 

Fanatics  thus  religion's  ensigns  bear, 

Like  worthies  triumph,  and  like  saints  appear. 

Tlie  same  desire  the  good  and  impious  draws ; 

Unnumber'd  martyrs  fall  in  error's  cause. 

Mayne's  piercing  eyes  beheld  the  future  blow. 
And  more  was  known  than  what  he  seem'd  to  know. 
Intending  wisely,  when  the  blood  was  spilt. 
To  reap  the  profits,  but  avoid  the  guilt. 
Sedition's  sons  were  left  to  guide  the  whole. 
And  steel  with  rage  the  impious  zealot's  soul. 
To  Paris'  gates  they  lead  the  traitor  on  ; 
While  the  Sixteen  with  fond  impatience  run 


forbidden  by  God  to  kill ;  but,  inasmuch  as  the  king  was  a  madman, 
separated  from  the  Church,  who  exercised  tlie  most  execrable  tyranny, 
and  who  was  determined  to  be  a  perpetual  scourge  to  France,  he  thought 
that  the  person  who  would  put  him  to  death,  as  did  Judith  formerly 
Ilolophemes,  would  do  a  thing  very  holy  and  very  commendable."—^. 


THE    HENKIADE.  139 

To  arts  infernal,  and  devoutly  pray, 

That  heaven  her  secret  counsels  would  display. 

This  science  once  distinguish'd  Catherine's '  reign, 

Though  always  criminal,  and  often  vain. 

The  servile  people,  that  forever  love 

Each  courtly  vice,  and  what  the  great  approve, 

Fond  of  whate'er  is  marvellous  or  new,  ' 

The  same  impieties  with  zeal  pursue.  i 

When  night's  still  shades  conceal  the  bands  impure, 
Silence  conducts  them  to  a  vault  obscure. 
By  the  pale  torch,  which  faintly  pierced  the  gloom. 
They  raise  an  altar  on  the  mouldering  tomb. 
There  both  the  royal  images  appear. 
Alike  the  objects  of  their  rage  and  fear. 
There  to  Almighty  Power  their  vows  are  paid. 
And  hellish  demons  summon'd  to  their  aid. 
High  on  their  walls  a  hundred  lances  stood, 
Mysterious,  awful  terrors  !  plunged  in  blood. 
Their  priest  was  one  of  that  unhappy  race 
Proscribed  on  earth,  and  sentenced  to  disgrace. 
Slaves  long  inured  to  superstition's  lore, 
Whose  crimes  and  sorrows  spread  from  shore  to  shore. 
The  Leaguers  next  the  sacrifice  begin 
With  horrid  cries,  and  bacchanalian  din  : 
Now  bathe  their  arms  within  the  crimson  tide  ; 
Now  on  the  altar  strike  at  Valois'  side. 
Now  with  more  rage,  the  terror  to  complete, 

1  Catherine  de  Medici  had  made  magic  so  fashionable  in  France,  that  a 
priest  named  S6chelles,  who  was  burned  to  death  under  the  reign  oi 
Henry  III  for  sorcery,  accused  twelve  hundred  persons  of  this  pretended 
crime.  Ignorance  and  stupidity  were  so  prevalent  in  these  times,  that 
little  was  spoken  of  except  exorcisms,  and  condemnations  to  the  stake. 
Men  were  even  found  sufficiently  foolish  to  believe  in  magicians,  and  there 
were  judges  superstitious  enough  to  punish  them  as  such. 


1-:10  THE    HENRIADE. 

See  Henry's  image  trod  beneath  their  feet. 

Death,  as  they  thouglit,  would  aid  the  impious  blow, 

And  send  the  heroes  to  the  shades  below. 

The  Hebrew '  tried  by  blasphemy  to  move 
The  depths  beneath,  and  all  the  powers  above. 
Invoked  the  spirits  that  in  ether  dwell. 
Swift  lightnings,  thunders,  and  the  flames  of  hell. 
Endor's  famed  priestess  erst  such  offerings  made, 
And  raised  by  dire  enchantments  Samuel's  shade. 
Thus  in  Samaria  once  'gainst  Judah  hung 
The  lying  accent  on  the  prophet's  tongue ; 
And  thus  inflexibly  Ateius^  rose, 
The  high  designs  of  Crassus  to  oppose. 

The  League's  mad  ruler  waited  to  receive 
To  charms  and  spells  what  answer  heaven  would  give. 
Convinced  that  vows  thus  offer'd  wing  their  way 
To  the  pure  regions  of  eternal  day. 
Heaven  heard  the  magic  sounds  which  only  drew 
From  thence  the  vengeance  to  their  errors  due. 
From  them  were  stopped  the  laws  which  nature  gave. 
And  plaintive  murmurs  fill'd  the  silent  cave. 

*  Several  of  the  Leaguer  priests  made  waxen  images  of  Henry  III  and  the 
King  of  Navarre,  which  they  placed  upon  the  altar,  and,  after  piercing 
them  during  mass  for  forty  consecutive  days,  on  the  fortieth  day  pierced 
them  to  the  heart. 

2  The  Jews  were  ordinarily  employed  for  operations  in  magic.  This 
ancient  superstition  comes  from  the  secrets  of  the  Cabala,  of  which  the 
Jews  were  said  to  be  the  sole  depositaries.  Catherine  de  Medici,  the  Mar- 
shal d'Ancre,  and  many  others,  made  use  of  Jews  at  these  pretended  sor- 
ceries. 

3  Ateius,  a  tribune  of  the  people,  not  being  able  to  prevent  Crassus  from 
marching  against  the  Parthians,  carried  a  brazier  filled  with  burning  coals 
to  the  gate  of  the  city,  by  which  Crassus  was  to  go  out,  and  casting  into  it 
certain  herbs,  cursed  the  expedition  of  Crassus,  invoking,  at  the  same 
time,  the  infernal  divinities. 


THE    HENEIADE. 

Successive  liglitnings  in  the  depth  of  night 
Flash'd  all  around,  and  gleam'd  with  horrid  light. 
Great  Henry  shone  amid  the  lambent  flames, 
Encircled  round  with  glory's  golden  beams. 
High  on  the  car  of  triumph  as  he  rode, 
Grace  on  his  brow  the  laurel  wreath  bestow'd, 
Tlie  royal  sceptre  glitter'd  in  his  hand, 
Emblem  of  power,  and  ensign  of  command. 
Loud  rolling  thunders  gave  the  fatal  sign. 
And  opening  earth  received  the  flaming  shrine, 
The  priest  and  Leaguers  shudder'd  at  the  sight. 
And  veil'd  their  crimes  beneath  the  shades  of  night. 
The  rolling  thunders,  and  the  fiery  blaze. 
Declared  that  God  had  number'd  Valois'  days. 
Grim  Death  rejoiced  ;  and,  such  the  Almighty's  will, 
Crimes  were  allow'd  his  sentence  to  fulfil. 

Now  Clement  to  the  royal  tent  drew  near, 
And  begg'd  admission,  undismay'd  by  fear ; 
For  heaven,  he  said,  had  sent  him  to  bestow 
Reviving  honors  on  the  monarch's  brow  ; 
And  secrets  to  unfold,  which  might  appear 
Worthy  reception  from  his  sovereign's  ear. 
All  mark  his  looks,  and  many  a  question  ask ; 
Lest  his  desire  some  bad  design  should  mask. 
He,  undisturb'd,  with  calm  and  simple  air. 
Returns  them  answers  plausible  and  fair ; 
Each  accent  seems  from  innocence  to  spring. 
The  guards  attend,  and  lead  him  to  their  king. 

Calm  as  before,  he  bent  the  suppliant  knee. 
Unruffled  and  unawed  by  majesty : 
Mark'd  where  to  strike,  and  thus,  by  falsehood's  aid, 
With  treacherous  lies  his  feign'd  addresses  paid. 


141 


142  THE    HENfUADE. 

"  Pardon,  dread  sovereign,  him  who,  trembling,  bi-ings 
Submissive  praises  to  the  king  of  kings. 
Oh,  let  me  thank  kind  Heaven,  whose  gracious  aid 
Has  shower'd  down  blessings  on  thy  sacred  head. 
Potier '  the  good,  and  Villerois  the  sage. 
Have  faithful  proved  in  this  rebellious  age ; 
Harlay  ^  the  great,  whose  brave,  intrepid  zeal 
Was  ever  active  in  the  public  weal. 
Immured  in  prison,  still  thy  cause  defends. 
Confounds  the  League  and  animates  thy  friends. 

"  That  mighty  Being,  whose  all-piercing  eyes 
Defeat  the  counsels  of  the  great  and  wise  : 
Whose  will  no  human  knowledge  can  withstand, 
Whose  works  are  finish'd  by  the  weakest  hand : 
To  Harlay  guided  thy  devoted  slave. 
That  loyal  subject  ever  good,  and  brave. 
His  sage  advice,  and  sentiments  refined 
Diffused  a  radiance  o'er  my  clouded  mind. 
To  bring  these  lines  with  eagerness  I  flew, 
By  Harlay  counsell'd,  and  to  Valois  true." 

The  king  received  the  letters  with  surprise, 
And  tears  of  holy  rapture  fill'd  his  eyes. 
"  Oh,  when,"  he  cried,  "  shall  Valois'  hand  supply 


>  Potier,  president  of  the  parliament  already  spoken  of. 

Villeroi,  who  had  been  secretary  of  state  under  Henry  III,  and  who  had 
joined  the  party  of  the  League,  on  account  of  an  insult  which  he  had  re- 
ceived, in  the  presence  of  the  king,  from  the  Duke  d'Epernon. 

2  Achille  de  Harlay,  who  was  then  confined  in  the  Bastile  by  Bussi-le- 
Clerc.  Jacques  Clement  presented  to  the  king  a  letter  on  the  part  of  this 
magistrate.  It  is  not  known  whether  this  letter  was  counterfeit  or  not ; 
this  is  astonishing  in  a  fact  of  this  importance,  and  would  make  me  believe 
that  the  letter  was  genuine,  and  that  President  Harlay  had  been  deceived 
in  sending  it;  otherwise,  this  treachery  would  have  been  loudly  sounded 
against  the  League. 


THE    IIENKIADE.  143 

Eewards  proportion'd  to  thy  loyalty  ?" 

Thus  spoke  the  monarch  with  affection  warm, 

Love  nndissembled,  and  extended  arm. 

Each  motion  well  the  monstrous  traitor  eyed, 

And  fiercely  plunged  the  dagger  in  his  side. 

Soon  as  the  crimson  stream  was  seen  to  flow, 

A  thousand  hands  revenged  the  fatal  blow. 

The  zealot  wish'd  not  for  a  happier  time. 

But  knelt  unmoved,  and  triumph'd  in  his  crime. 

Through  opening  skies  he  saw  the  heavenly  dome. 

And  endless  glories  in  the  world  to  come ; 

Claim'd  the  bright  wreath  of  martyrdom  from  God, 

And  falling,  bless'd  the  hand  that  shed  his  blood. 

Oh,  dread  illusion,  terrible  and  blind, 

Worthy  the  hate  and  pity  of  mankind. 

Infectious  preachers  more  deserved  the  blame. 

From  whom  the  madness  and  the  poison  came. 

The  hour  arrived  when  Valois'  darken'd  sight 
Faintly  beheld  the  parting,  glimmering  light. 
Surrounding  slaves  with  many  a  falling  tear 
Express'd  their  griefs,  dissembled  or  sincere. 
For  some  there  were,  whose  sorrows  soon  expired, 
With  pleasing  hopes  of  future  greatness  fired. 
Others,  whose  safety  with  the  king  was  fled. 
Themselves  lamented,  not  the  royal  dead. 
Amid  the  various  sounds  of  plaintive  cries 
Tears  unafiected  flow'd  from  Henry's  eyes. 
Thy  foe,  great  Bourbon,  fell ;  but  souls  like  thine 
In  such  dread  moments  every  thought  resign. 
Save  those  which  friendship,  and  compassion  claim  : 
Self-love  destroys  not  the  celestial  flame. 
The  generous  chief  forgot  his  own  renown, 
Though  to  himself  devolved  the  regal  crown. 


144  THE   HENRIADE. 

To  raise- Jiift-^ycs  the  dying  monarch  strove, 
And  clasp'd  his  hand  with  tenderness  and  love. 

"  Bourbon,"  he  cried,  "  thy  generous  tears  refrain, 
Let  others  weep,  whose  conduct  I  disdain. 
Fly  thou  to  vengeance,  spread  the  dire  alarm, 
Go  reign,  and  triumph  with  victorious  arm. 
I  leave  thee  struggling  on  the  stormy  coast, 
Where  shipwreck'd  Valois  was  forever  lost. 
My  throne  awaits  thee ;  thine,  now,  let  it  be, 
Its  sole  protection  was  derived  from  thee. 
Eternal  thunders  threaten  Gallia's  kings ; 
Then  fear  the  power  from  whom  the  glory  springs. 
By  thee,  from  impious  tenets  undeceived. 
Be  all  the  honors  of  his  shrine  revived. 
Farewell,  brave  prince,  and  reign  by  all  adored. 
Guarded  by  heaven  from  each  assassin's  sword. 
You  know  the  League,  w  ith  us  begins  the  blow. 
Nor  stays  its  fury,  but  would  end  with  you. 
In  future  days,  perchance,  some  barbarous  hand. 
Obedient  slave  to  faction's  dread  command. 

Some  arm but  oh !  ye  guardian  angels,  spare 

Virtues  so  pure,  so  exquisite,  and  rare. 

Permit" no  more  he  said ;  departing  breath 

Consign'd  the  monarch  to  the  arms  of  death.' 

Now  is  all  Paris  fill'd  with  joyful  cries, 
And  odious  songs  of  triumph  rend  the  skies. 


»  Henry  III  died  of  his  wound  on  the  third  of  August,  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  at  Saint-Cloud ;  but  not,  as  some  historians  have  written, 
in  the  same  house  in  which  he  had,  with  his  brother,  resolved  on  the 
massacre  of  Saint  Bartholomew,  for  this  house  was  not  built  at  that 
time. 


THE    HENR 

The  fanes  are  opeu'd  wide  at  Valois* 

And  every  Leaguer  wears  the  flowery  wreath. 

All  labor  ends,  while  faction,  blithe  and  gay. 

To  mirth  and  feasting  consecrates  the  day. 

Bourbon  appear'd  the  object  of  their  sport. 

And  glorious  valor  seem'd  his  sole  support. 

Say,  could  he  rise,  and  e'er  resist  again. 

The  strengthen'd  League,  the  angry  Church,  and  Spain 

The  Roman  thunders  with  such  fury  liurl'd. 

And  the  bright  treasures  of  the  western  world  I 

Some  warlike  few,  who  little  understood 
A  subject's  duty,  or  the  public  good. 
Affecting  scruples  foolish,  and  refined. 
To  fight  for  Calvin's  votary  had  declined, 
liedoubled  ardor  in  the  royal  cause 
The  rest  inflamed,  and  ruled  by  other  laws. 
These  generous  soldiers,  well  approved  in  war. 
Who  long  had  rode  on  triumph's  radiant  car. 
To  Bourbon  give  unsettled  Gallia's  throne. 
And  all  proclaim  him  worthy  of  the  crown. 
Those  valiant  knights,  the  Givrys  and  d'Aumonts, 
The  Montmorencys,  Sancys,  and  Crillons, 
Swear  to  remain  inviolable  friends. 
And  guard  his  person  to  earth's  utmost  ends 
True  to  their  laws,  and  faithful  to  their  God, 
They  boldly  march  where  honor  points  the  road. 

"  From  you,  my  friends,"  cried  Bourbon,  "  is  derived 
That  lot  which  kindred  heroes  have  received. 
No  peers  have  authorized  our  high  command, 
No  holy  oil,  or  consecrating  hand. 
All  due  allegiance,  in  the  days  of  yore, 


146  THE  HENRIADE. 

Your  brave  forefathers  on  their  buckler  swore.  '« 

To  victory's  laurell'd  field  your  hands  confined, 
From  thence  send  forth  the  monarchs  of  mankind." 


Thus  spoke  the  chief,  and,  marching  first,  prepared 
By  martial  deeds  to  merit  his  reward. 


THE    HENRIADE. 


CANTO  VI. 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

After  the  death  of  Henry  III  the  Leaguers  assemble  in  Paris,  to  elect  a 
king.  In  the  midst  of  their  debates,  Henry  IV  storms  the  city.  The 
assembly  is  dismissed.  The  members  that  composed  it  repair  to  the 
ramparts.    Description  of  the  ensuing  battle. 


CANTO  THE  SIXTH.' 


In  France  an  ancient  custom  we  retain  : 

When  Death's  rude  stroke  has  closed  a  house's  reign, 

When  Destiny  cuts  short  the  smooth  descent, 

And  all  the  royal  pedigree  is  spent. 

The  people,  to  their  former  rights  restored, 

May  change  the  laws,  or  choose  their  future  lord. 

The  States  in  council  represent  the  whole. 

Elect  the  king,  and  limit  his  control ; 

Thus  our  renown'd  forefathers  did  ordain. 

That  Capet  should  succeed  to  Charlemagne. 


»  The  sixth  and  seventh  cantos  are  those  in  which  Voltaire  has  made 
the  greatest  changes.  That  which  was  the  sixth  in  the  first  edition 
of  1723,  is  the  seventh  in  the  London  quarto  edition,  and  those  siibse- 
quent  to  it ;  and  the  commencement  of  this  canto  is  drawn  from  the  ninth 
canto  of  the  edition  of  1723.  As,  in  an  epic  poem,  more  regard  is  paid  to 
the  rules  of  design  than  to  chronology,  the  death  of  Henry  III  is  followed 
immediately  by  the  States  of  Paris,  which  were  not  assembled  until  four 
years  after. 

According  to  history,  Henry  the  Great  besieged  Paris  some  years  after 
the  battle  of  Ivry,  in  the  month  of  April,  1590.  The  Duke  de  Parma  com- 
pelled him  to  raise  the  siege  in  the  month  of  September.  The  League,  a 
long  time  afterwards,  in  1593,  assembled  the  States  to  elect  a  king  in  the 
stead  of  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  whom  it  had  recognized  under  the  name  of 
Charles  X,  and  who  had  now  been  dead  two  years  and  a  half;  and  in  July 
of  the  same  year,  1593,  the  king  made  his  abjuration  in  Saint  Denis,  but 
did  not  enter  Paris  until  the  month  of  March,  1594. 

Of  all  these  events,  the  arrival  of  the  Duke  de  Parma,  and  the  pretended 
reign  of  Charles  X,  cardinal  de  Bourbon,  have  been  suppressed.  It  is  easy 
to  perceive  that  to  bring  the  Duke  de  Parma  upon  the  scene  woidd  have 
been  to  diminish  the  glory  of  Henry  lY,  the  hero  of  the  poem,  and  to  con- 


150  THE   HENRI ADE. 

The  League,  with  vain  presumption,  arrogates 
This  right,  and  hastens  to  convene  the  States. 
They  thought  the  murder  of  the  king  bestow'd 
That  power,  perhaps,  on  those  who  shed  his  blood ; 
Thought  that  the  semblance  of  a  throne  would  shroud 
Their  dark  designs,  and  captivate  the  crowd — 
Would  help  their  jarring  counsels  to  unite, 
And  give  their  foul  pretence  an  air  of  right ; 
That  from  what  source  soe'er  his  claim  may  spring, 

flict  directly  with  the  aim  of  the  work,  which  would  be  an  unpardonable 
fault. 

In  regard  to  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  it  was  not  worth  while  to  mar  the 
unity,  so  essential  in  every  epic,  for  the  sake  of  a  mock  king  like  this  car- 
dinal, who  would  have  been  as  useless  in  the  poem  as  he  was  to  the  party 
of  the  League.  In  a  word,  nothing  is  said  about  the  Duke  de  Parma,  be- 
cause he  was  too  great,  and  of  the  Cardinal  de  Bourbon,  because  he  was 
too  little.  It  was  necessary  to  place  the  States  of  Paris  before  the  siege, 
because  if  they  had  been  put  in  their  order,  the  same  opportunities  would 
not  have  been  found  for  displaying  the  virtues  of  the  hero.  Besides,  the 
assembling  of  the  States  of  Paris  is  not  one  of  those  events  that  can- 
not be  moved  from  their  chronological  point.  Poetry  permits  the  trans- 
position of  all  fticts  that  arc  not  separated  from  one  another  by  a  great  num- 
ber of  years,  and  which  have  no  necessary  connection  with  each  other 
For  example,  I  might,  without  exposing  myself  to  just  criticism,  represent 
tienry  IV  in  love  with  Gabrielle  d'Estr^es  during  the  life  of  Ilenry  III, 
jccause  the  life  and  death  of  Ilenry  III  had  nothing  in  common  with  the 
t)assion  of  Henry  IV  for  Gabrielle  d'Estrees.  The  States  of  the  League 
Dear  as  little  relation  to  the  siege  of  Paris ;  they  are  two  events  abso 
lUtely  independent  of  each  other.  These  States  produced  no  effect ;  no 
resolution  was  adopted  by  them ;  they  contributed  in  no  manner  to  the 
party  ;  chance  might  have  assembled  them  before  the  siege  as  well  as  after 
t ;  and  they  are  better  placed  before  the  siege  in  the  poem.  Besides,  i*- 
must  not  be  thought  that  an  epic  poem  is  a  history :  this  rule  cannot  be 
^00  strongly  impressed  upon  those  who  are  not  familiar  with  it. 

Away,  ye  stupid  poets,  who  rehearse 

In  faultless  measure  your  didactic  verse, 

Who  sing  a  hero's  brilliant  deeds  in  rhyme, 

Exactly  in  their  order  as  to  time  ; 

Who  dare  not  overlook  the  slightest  fact: 

To  capture  Lille,  lo !  Dole  must  first  be  sack'd ; 

And,  that  you  be  precise  as  Mezeray, 

You  must  raze,  too,  the  ramparts  of  Courtray.* 


*  BoiLKAU,  Art.  Poet,  Canto  II. 


THK    HENRIADE.  151 

Just  or  unjust,  a  king  is  still  a  king, 

And  worthy  or  unworthy  of  the  sway, 

A  Frenchman  must  have  something  to  obey. 

Swift  to  the  Louvre  with  imperious  air, 
And  fierce  demeanor,  the  proud  chiefs  repair ; 
Thither  whom  Spain  ambassador  had  sent. 
And  Rome,  with  many  a  priestly  bigot,  went, 
To  speed  the  election  with  tumultuous  haste — 
An  insult  on  the  kings  of  ages  past ; 
And  in  the  splendor  of  their  trains,  expense 
Was  seen,  the  child  of  public  indigence. 
No  princely  potentate,  or  high-born  peer. 
Sprung  from  our  old  nobility,  was  there ; 
Their  grandeur  now  a  shadowy  form  alone, 
Though  lawgivers  by  birth,  and  kinsmen  of  the  throne. 
No  sage  asserters  of  the  public  claim, 
Strenuous  and  hardy,  from  the  commons  came ; 
No  lilies,  as  of  old,  the  court  array'd. 
But  Eome's  high  legate  all  his  pomp  display'd. 
There,  sumptuous  o'er  the  throne,  for  Mayne  prepared, 
'A  canopy  of  royal  state  was  reared, 
And  on  the  front,  with  rich  embroidery  graced, 
Oh,  dire  indignity !  these  lines  were  traced  : 
"Kings  of  the  earth,  and  judges  of  mankind, 
"Who,  deaf  to  mercy,  by  no  laws  confined. 
Lay  nature  waste  beneath  your  fierce  domain, 
Let  Valois'  fate  instruct  you  how  to  reign." 

Forthwith  contentious  rage  with  jarring  sound, 
And  clamorous  strife  discordant  echo  round. 
Slave  to  the  smiles  of  Rome,  obsequious  here, 
A  venal  flatterer  soothes  the  legate's  ear ; 
'Tis  time,  he  cries,  the  lily  should  bow  down 


152  THE   HENRIADE. 

Her  head,  obedient  to  the  triple  crown, 

Time  that  the  Church  sliould  lift  her  chastening  hand,' 

And  from  her  high  tribunal  scourge  the  land. 

Cruel  tribunal !  scene  of  monkish  power, 

"Which  even  the  realms  that  suffer  it  abhor ; 

Whose  fiery  priests  by  bigotry  prepared, 

Torture  and  death  without  remorse  award. 

Disgraceful  to  the  sacred  cause  they  guard. 

As  if  mankind  were,  as  of  old,  possess'd 

AVith  pagan  blindness,  when  the  lying  priest, 

To  appease  the  wrath  of  heaven  with  vengeance  fired. 

The  sacrifice  of  human  blood  required. 

Some  for  Iberian  gold  betray  the  State, 
And  sell  it  to  the  Spaniard  whom  they  hate. 
But  mightier  than  the  rest,  their  power  was  shown. 
Who  destined  Mayne  already  to  the  throne. 
The  splendor  of  a  crown  was  wanting  yet. 
To  make  the  fulness  of  his  fame  complete  ; 
To  that  bright  goal  his  daring  wish  he  sends. 
Nor  heeds  the  danger  that  on  kings  attends. 

Then  Potier^  rose;  plain,  nervous,  and  untaught 
His  eloquence,  the  language  of  his  thought. 
No  blemish  of  the  times  had  touch'd  the  sage. 
Revered  for  virtue  in  a  vicious  age ; 
Oft  had  he  check'd,  with  courage  uncontroll'd, 
The  tide  of  faction  headlong  as  it  roll'd ; 
Asserted  hardily  the  laws  he  loved. 


1  The  Inquisition  wliich  the  Dukes  de  Guise  wished  to  establish  in 
France. 

2  Potier  de  Blancmenil,  president  of  the  parliament,  already  spoken  of 
in  the  fourth  and  fifth  eantos.  He  asked,  publiely,  permission  of  the  Duke 
de  Mayenne  to  retire  to  Henry  IV,  saying:  "  I  will  regard  you,  all  my  life, 
as  my  benefactor,  but  I  cannot  regard  you  as  my  master." 


THE   HENRIADE.  153 

Nor  ever  feared  reproof,  or  was  reproved. 

He  raised  his  voice ;  struck  silent  at  the  sound, 

The  crowd  was  hush'd,  and  listening,  gatlier'd  round. 

So  when  at  sea  the  winds  have  ceased  to  roar, 

And  the  loud  sailor's  cries  are  heard  no  more, 

No  sound  survives,  but  of  the  dashing  prow. 

That  cleaves  with  prosperous  course  the  obedient  wave 

below. 
Such  Potier  seem'd ;  no  rude  disturbance  broke 
The  attentive  calm,  w^hile  freely  thus  he  spoke : 

"  Mayne,  I  perceive  then,  has  the  general  voice, 
And  though  I  praise  not,  can  excuse  your  choice ; 
His  virtues  I  esteem  not  less  than  you,     . 
And,  were  I  free  to  choose,  might  choose  him  too. 
But  if  the  laws,  ambitious,  he  pervert. 
His  claim  of  empire  cancels  his  desert." 

Thus  far  the  sage  ;  when  lo  !  that  instant  Mayne 
Himself  appeared,  with  all  a  monarch's  train. 

"  Prince !"  he  pursued,  and  spoke  it  boldly  forth, 
"  I  dare  oppose  you,  for  I  know  your  worth  ; 
Dare  step  between  your  merit  and  the  throne, 
Warm  in  the  cause  of  France,  and  in  our  own. 
Vain  your  election  were,  your  right  unsound, 
While  yet  in  France  a  Bourbon  may  be  found ; 
Heaven  in  its  wisdom  placed  you  near  the  throne, 
That  you  might  guard,  but  not  usurp  the  crown  ; 
His  ashes  sprinkled  with  a  monarch's  gore, 
The  shade  of  injured  Guise  can  ask  no  more ; 
Point  not  your  vengeance  then  at  Henry's  head, 
Nor  charge  him  with  the  blood  he  never  shed. 
Heaven's  influence  on  you  both  too  largely  flows, 


154  THE   IIENRIADE. 

• 

And  'tis  your  rival  virtue  makes  you  foes. 

But  hark !  the  clamor  of  the  common  herd 

Ascends  the  skies,  and  heretic's  the  word  ; 

And  see  the  priesthood  ranged  in  dark  array, 

To  deeds  of  blood  insatiate  urge  their  way ! 

Barbarians,  hold, — what  custom  yet  unknown, 

"What  law,  or  rather  frenzy  of  your  own, 

Can  cancel  your  allegiance  to  the  throne  ? 

Comes  he,  this  Henry,  savage  and  unjust. 

To  o'erthrow  your  shrines,  and  mix  them  with  the  dust  ? 

He  ?     To  those  shrines  in  search  of  truth  he  flies. 

And  loves  the  sacred  laws  yourselves  despise ; 

Virtue  alone,  whatever  form  she  wears, 

Whatever  sect  she  graces,  he  reveres ; 

Nor  like  yourselves,  weak,  arrogant,  and  blind. 

Dares  do  the  work  of  God,  and  judge  mankind  : 

More  righteous  and  more  Christian  far  than  you. 

He  comes  to  rule,  but  to  forgive  you,  too. 

And  shall  you  judge  your  master,  and  shall  he. 

The  friend  of  freedom,  not  himself  be  free  ? 

Not  such,  alas  !  nor  sullied  with  your  crimes. 

Were  the  true  Christian  race  of  elder  times ; 

They,  though  all  heathen  errors  they  abhorr'd. 

Served  without  murmuring  their  heathen  lord, — 

The  doom  of  death  without  a  groan  obey'd. 

And  bless'd  the  cruel  hand  by  which  they  bled  : 

Such  are  the  Christians  whom  true  faith  assures ; 

They  died  to  serve  their  kings,  you  murder  yours — 

And  God,  whom  you  describe  forever  prone 

To  wrath,  if  he  delights  to  shower  it  down 

On  guilty  heads,  shall  aim  it  at  your  own." 

He  closed  his  bold  harangue,  confusion  scared 
Their  conscious  souls,  none  answer'd  him,  or  dared  ; 


THE   HENEIADE.  155 

In  vain  they  would  have  shaken  from  their  hearts 

The  dread  which  truth  to  guiltiness  imparts ; 

With  fear  and  rage  their  troubled  thoughts  were  toss'd, 

When  suddenly  a  shout  from  all  their  host 

Was  heard,  "  To  arms  !  to  arms  !  or  we  are  lost !" 

Dark  clouds  of  dust  in  floating  volumes  rise 
Wide  o'er  the  champaign,  and  obscure  the  skies ! 
The  clarion  and  the  drum  with  horrid  sound, 
Dread  harbingers  of  slaughter,  echo  round  : 
So  from  his  gloomy  chambers  in  the  north, 
When  the  fierce  spirit  of  the  storm  breaks  forth, 
His  dusky  pinions  shroud  the  noon-day  light. 
And  thunder  and  sharp  winds  attend  his  dreary  flight. 

'Twas  Henry's  host  came  shouting  from  afar, 
Disdaining  ease,  and  eager  for  the  war  ; 
O'er  the  wide  plain  they  stretch'd  their  bright  array, 
And  to  the  ramparts  urged  their  furious  way. 

These  hours  the  chief  vouchsafed  not  to  consume 
In  empty  rites  perform'd  at  Valois'  tomb — 
Unprofitable  tribute  !  fondly  paid 
By  the  proud  living  to  the  unconscious  dead  ; 
No  lofty  dome,  or  monumental  pile. 
On  the  waste  shore  he  raised  with  fruitless  toil ; 
Vain  arts  !  to  rescue  the  departed  great 
From  the  rough  tooth  of  time,  and  rage  of  fate  : 
A  nobler  meed  on  Yalois'  shade  below, 
And  worthier  gifts  he  hasten'd  to  bestow ; 
To  avenge  his  murder,  make  rebellion  cease. 
And  rule  the  subjugated  land  in  peace. 

The  din  of  battle,  gathering  at  their  gates, 


156  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Dissolved  their  council,  and  dispersed  the  States. 
Swift  from  the  walls,  to  view  the  advancing  host. 
The  general  flew,  the  soldier  to  his  post ; 
With  shouts  the  approaching  hero  they  incense, 
And  all  is  ripe  for  onset  and  defence. 


Though  pleasure,  now,  and  peace  securely  reign 
In  all  her  courts,  not  such  was  Paris  then, 
But  girt  with  massy  walls,  and  unexposed, 
An  hundred  forts  the  narrower  town  inclosed ; 
The  suburbs,  now  defenceless  and  unbarr'd. 
The  gentle  hand  of  peace  their  only  guard, 
Adorn'd  with  all  the  pomp  that  w^ealth  supplies. 
Proud  spires  and  palaces  that  pierce  the  skies. 
Were  then  a  cluster  of  rude  huts  alone. 
With  earthen  rampart  all  around  them  thrown. 
And  a  deep  fosse  to  part  them  from  the  town. 
Eastward  the  mighty  chief  the  assault  began, 
And  death  with  hasty  strides  came  foremost  in  his  van. 
Wing'd  with  red  flames,  impetuous  from  on  high. 
And  from  below  the  shower'd  bullets  fly — 
The  rattling  storm  resistless  thickens  round. 
And  tumbles  tower  and  bastion  to  the  ground  ; 
Gored  and  defaced,  the  gay  battalions  bleed. 
And  on  the  plain  their  shatter'd  limbs  are  spread. 


In  earlier  times,  unaided  and  untaught, 
His  fate  by  simpler  means  the  soldier  wrought ; 
Strength  against  strength  opposed,  the  contest  tried, 
And  on  their  swords  alone  the  combatants  relied ; 
More  cruel  wars  their  children  learn'd  to  wafje, 
Nor  less  than  lightning  satisfied  their  rage. 


THE   HENEIADE.  157 

Then  first  was  heard  the  thunder-bearing  bomb,' 
Imprison'd  mischief  struggling  in  its  womb. 
Swift  on  the  destined  mark  the  ponderous  shell 
Came  down,  and  spread  destruction  where  it  fell. 

Next,  dire  improvement  on  the  barbarous  trade, 
In  hollow  vaults  the  secret  mine  was  laid  ; 
In  vain  the  warrior,  trusting  in  his  might. 
Speeds  his  bold  march  and  seeks  the  promised  fight, 
A  sudden  blast  divides  the  yawning  earth, 
And  the  black  vapor  kindles  into  birth. 
Smote  by  strange  thunder  sinks  the  astonish'd  host. 
Deep  in  the  dark  abyss  forever  lost. 
These  dangers  Bourbon  unappall'd  defies. 
Impatient  for  the  strife,  a  throne  the  prize. 
Where'er  his  hardy  bands  the  hero  leads, 
'Tis  hell  beneath,  and  tempest  o'er  their  heads — • 
His  glorious  steps  undaunted  they  pursue. 
Fired  by  his  deeds  still  brightening  in  their  view. 

Grave  in  their  midst  the  intrepid  Mornay  went, 
Though  slow  his  march,  intrepid  his  intent ; 
Rage  he  alike  disdain'd  and  slawsh  dread, 
Nor  heard  the  thunders  bursting  round  his  head  ; 
War  was  heaven's  scourge  on  man,  he  wisely  thought, 
Nor  loved  the  task,  but  took  it  as  his  lot ; 
E'en  for  the  wonders  of  his  sword  he  grieved, 
And  loathed  it  for  the  glories  it  achieved. 

Now  pour'd  their  legions  down  the  dreadful  way, 
Where  smear'd  with  blood  the  sloping  glacis  lay  ; 

1  It  was  in  the  wars  in  Flanders,  under  Philip  II,  that  an  ingenious 
Italian  made  use  of  bombs  for  the  first  time.  Almost  all  our  arts  are  due 
to  the  Italians. 


158  THE   IIKNKIADE. 

More  fierce  as  more  in  danger,  witli  the  slain 
They  choke  the  fosse,  and  lift  it  to  the  plain  ; 
Then  borne  upon  the  supple  numbers,  reach 
The  ramparts,  and  rush  headlong  to  the  breach. 
Waving  his  bloody  falchion,  Henry  led 
The  way,  and  enter'd  furious  at  their  head. 
Already  fix'd  by  his  victorious  hand, 
High  on  the  walls  his  glittering  banners  stand. 
Awe-struck  the  Leaguers  seem'd,  as  they  implored 
The  conqueror's  mercy,  and  confess'd  their  lord ; 
But  Mayne  recalls  them  to  their  guilty  part. 
And  drives  the  dawning  grace  from  every  heart, 
'Till,  crowded  in  close  phalanx,  they  beset 
Their  king,  whose  eye  their  hardiest  fear'd  to  meet. 
Fierce  on  the  battlements,  and  bathed  in  blood 
Of  thousands  slain,  the  fury  Discord  stood ; 
There  best  her  horrid  mandates  they  obey. 
And  join'd  in  closer  fight,  more  surely  slay. 


Sudden  the  deep-mouth'd  engines  cease  to  roar, 
And  the  loud  thunder  of  the  war  is  o'er. 
At  once  a  universal-silence  round. 
With  awful  pause,  succeeds  the  deafening  sound ; 
Now  through  his  foes  the  soldier  cleaves  his  way, 
And  on  the  sword  alone  depends  the  day ; 
Alternate  the  contending  leaders  boast 
The  bloody  ramparts  won,  and  yield  them  lost ; 
Still  victory  the  doubtful  balance  sway'd, 
And  join'd  in  air  the  mingling  banners  play'd, 
'Till  oft  triumphant,  and  as  oft  subdued. 
Fled  the  pale  League,  and  Henry  swift  pursued. 
'Tis  thus  the  restless  billows  wash  the  shore, 
By  turns  o'erwhelm  it,  and  by  turns  restore. 


THE   HENKIADE.  159 

Then  most  in  that  tremendous  hour  was  shown 
The  might  of  Bourbon's  rival,  and  his  own  ; 
'Twas  then  each  hero's  warlike  soul  was  proved, 
That  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved, 
Amid  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 
Ranged  the  dread  scene,  and  ruled  the  doubtful  war. 

Meanwhile,  renown'd  for  many  a  martial  deed, 
A  gallant  English  band  brave  Essex  led  ; 
In  Gallia's  cause,  with  wonder,  they  advance. 
And  scarcely  can  believe  they  fight  for  France. 
On  the  same  ramparts  where  the  conquer'd  Seine 
Saw,  in  old  time,  their  great  forefathers  reign, 
For  England's  sake,  they  wage  the  mortal  strife. 
Proud  to  enhance  her  fame,  and  prodigal  of  life. 
Impetuous  Essex  first  the  breach  ascends. 
Where  fierce  d'Aumale  the  crowded  pass  defends, 
To  fight,  like  fabled  demigods,  they  came. 
Their  age,  their  ardor,  and  their  force  the  same ; 
French,  English,  and  Lorrains,  in  combat  close. 
And  in  one  stream  the  mingled  crimson  flows. 

0  thou !  the  genius  of  that  fatal  day. 
Soul  of  the  strife,  destroying  angel,  say 
Whose  was  the  triumph  then  ;  which  hero's  host 
Yourself  assisted,  and  heaven  favor'd  most  ? 
Long  time  the  chiefs,  with  rival  glory  crown'd. 
Dealt  equal  slaughter  through  the  legions  round ; 
At  length,  by  factious  rage,  in  vain,  assail'd 
The  righteous  cause,  and  Henry's  arms  prevail'd ; 
Worn  with  disastrous  toil  and  long  fatigue, 
Exhausted,  hopeless,  fled  the  vanquish'd  League. 
As  on  Pyrcne's  ever-clouded  brow, 
"^Vhen  swelling  torrents  threat  the  vale  below, 


IGO  THE   IIENKIADE. 

Awhile  with  solid  banks  and  lofty  mounds, 

They  stay  the  foaming  deluge  in  its  bounds ; 

But  soon,  the  barrier  broke,  the  rushing  tide 

Roars,  unresisted,  down  the  mountain's  side, 

Uproots  the  forest  oaks,  and  bears  away 

Flocks,  folds,  and  herds,  an  undistinguish'd  prey  ; 

So  from  the  smoking  walls,  with  matchless  force, 

Victorious  Bourbon  urged  his  rapid  course. 

Such  havoc,  where  the  royal  warrior  pass'd, 

Had  soon  the  boastful  enemy  laid  waste. 

The  Sixteen,  awed,  fly  fast  the  vengeful  arm, 

Bewilder'd,  lost,  and  scatter'd  in  alarm. 

x\t  length,  the  friendly  gates,  by  Mayne's  command, 

Flung  wide,  received  the  desolated  band. 

The  victor  host  around  the  suburbs  fly 

Incensed,  and  hurl  the  blazing  torch  on  high. 

Their  temperate  valor  kindles  into  rage. 

And  spoil  and  plunder  are  the  war  they  wage. 

Henry  perceived  it  not ;  with  eager  flight 

He  chased  the  foe,  dispersed  before  his  fight ; 

Spurr'd  by  his  courage,  with  success  elate, 

And  ardent  joy,  he  reach'd  the  hostile  gate. 

Thence  on  his  scatter'd  power  aloud  he  calls, 

"  Haste,  fly,  my  friends,  and  scale  the  haughty  walls." 

When  sudden,  in  a  rolling  cloud  enshrined, 
A  beauteous  form  came  floating  on  the  wind ; 
With  gracious  mien,  and  awful  to  the  view. 
Towards  Henry  the  descending  vision  flew ; 
His  brow  was  with  immortal  splendor  graced, 
And  horror,  mix'd  with  love,  his  radiant  eyes  express'd. 
"  Hold,  hapless  conqueror  of  your  native  land !" 
The  phantom  cried,  "  and  stay  your  vengeful  hand ; 
This  fair  dominion  vou  with  war  deface, 


THE    HENRI ADE.  ICl 

Is  yours  of  old,  the  birthright  of  your  race ; 

These  lives  you  seek  are  vassals  of  your  throne, 

This  wealth  you  give  to  plunder,  is  your  own ; 

Spare  your  own  heritage,  nor  seek  to  reign 

A  solitary  monarch  o'er  the  slain." 

Amazed,  the  soldier  heard  the  solemn  sound, 

And  dropp'd  his  spoils,  and  prostrate  kiss'd  the  ground. 

Then  Henry,  rage  still  boiling  in  his  breast. 

Like  seas,  hoarse-murmuring,  while  they  sink  to  rest : 

"  Say,  bright  inhabitant  of  heaven,  what  means 

Thy  hallow'd  form  amid  these  horrid  scenes  ?" 

Mild  as  the  breeze,  at  summer's  evening  tide 

Serene,  the  visionary  shape  replied  : 

"  Behold  the  sainted  king,  whom  France  adores. 

Protector  of  the  Bourbon  race,  and  yours — 

That  Louis,  who,  like  you,  once  urged  the  fight. 

Whose  shrines  you  heed  not,  and  whose  faith  you  slight ; 

Know,  when  the  destined  days  their  course  have  run, 

Heaven  shall  itself  conduct  you  to  the  throne  ; 

Thine  is  the  victory,  but  that  great  reward 

Is  for  thy  mercy,  not  thy  might,  prepared." 

He  spoke,  the  listening  chief  with  rapture  hears, 
And  down  his  cheek  fast  flow  the  joyful  tears  ; 
Peace  soothed  his  tranquil  heart,  he  dropp'd  his  sword, 
And  on  his  knees  devout  the  shade  adored. 
Then  thrice  around  his  neck  his  arms  he  flung, 
And  thrice  deceived,  on  vain  embraces  hung ; 
Light  as  an  empty  dream  at  break  of  day. 
Or  as  a  blast  of  wind,  he  rush'd  away. 

Meanwhile,  in  haste  to  guard  the  invested  town, 
The  swarming  multitude  the  ramparts  crown  ; 
Thick  from  above  a  fiery  flood  they  pour. 


1G2  THE   HENRI ADE. 

And  at  the  monarch  aim  the  fatal  shower ; 

But  heaven's  bright  influence,  round  his  temples  shed, 

Diverts  the  storm,  and  guards  his  sacred  head ; 

"Tvvas  then  he  saw,  protected  as  he  stood. 

What  thanks  to  his  paternal  saint  he  owed ; 

Towards  Paris  his  sad  eye  in  sorrow  thrown, 

"  Ye  French  !"  he  cried,  "  and  thou,  ill-fated  town, 

Ye  citizens,  a  blind,  deluded  herd. 

How  long  will  you  withstand  your  lawful  lord !" 

Nor  more  ;  but  as  the  star  that  brings  the  day, 

At  eve  declining  in  his  western  way. 

More  mildly  shoots  his  horizontal  fires. 

And  seems  an  ampler  globe  as  he  retires. 

Such  from  the  walls  the  parting  hero  turn'd. 

While  all  his  kindred  saint  within  his  bosom  burn'd. 

Vincennes  he  sought,  where  Louis  whilom  spoke 

His  righteous  laws  beneath  an  aged  oak. 

Vincennes,'  alas !  no  more  a  calm  retreat ; 

How  art  thou  changed,  thou  once  delightful  seat ! 

Thy  rural  charms,  thy  peaceful  smiles  are  fled, 

And  blank  despair  possesses  thee  instead. 

'Tis  there  the  great,  their  hapless  labors  done, 

And  all  the  short-lived  race  of  glory  run, 

The  fickle  changes  of  their  various  lot 

Conclude,  and  die  neglected  and  forgot. 

Now  Night  o'er  heaven  pursued  her  dusty  way, 
And  hid  in  shades  the  horrors  of  the  day. 

1  It  is  well  known  how  many  prisoners  of  state  Cardinals  de  Kichelieu 
and  Mazarin  shut  up  at  Vincennes.  While  The  Henriade  was  in  progress, 
the  Secretary  of  State,  Le  Blanc,  was  a  prisoner  in  this  castle ;  and  in  it 
he,  afterwards,  confined  his  own  enemies. 


THE    HENRIADE 


CANTO  VIL 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Henry  IV  is  transported  in  a  vision  by  St.  Louis  to  heaven,  and  the  in- 
fernal regions.  He  arrives  at  the  palace  of  the  Destinies  ;  where  he  has 
an  opportunity  of  seeing  his  posterity,  and  the  great  men  hereafter  to  be 
produced  in  France. 


CANTO  THE  SEVENTH.' 


The  great,  the  boundless  clemency  of  God, 

To  soothe  the  ills  of  life's  perplexing  road. 

Sweet  Sleep  and  Hope,  two  friendly  beings  gave, 

Which  earth's  dark,  gloomy  confines  never  leave. 

When  man,  fatigued  by  labors  of  the  day, 

Has  toil'd  his  spirits  and  his  strength  away. 

That,  nature's  friend,  restores  her  powers  again, 

And  brings  the  blest  forgetfulness  of  pain. 

This,  oft  deceitful,  but  forever  kind. 

Diffuses  warmth  and  transport  through  the  mind  ; 

From  her  the  few,  whom  heaven  approves,  may  learn 

The  pleasing  issue  of  each  high  concern. 

Pure  as  her  author  in  the  realms  above. 

To  them  she  brings  the  tidings  of  his  love. 

Immortal  Louis  bid  the  faithful  pair 
Expand  their  downy  wings,  and  soften  Henry's  care. 
Still  Sleep  repairs  to  Yincennes'  shady  ground ; 
The  winds  subside,  and  silence  reigns  around. 


J  The  judicious  reader  will  perceive  that  it  has  been  absolutely  necessary 
to  put  the  fictitious  portion  of  this  seventh  canto  in  the  form  of  a  dream ; 
for,  under  any  other  form,  it  would  have  been  intolerable.  A  supposition 
is  therefore  made  (and  the  Christian  religion  permits  it),  that  God,  who 
gives  us  all  our  ideas,  shows,  in  a  dream,  to  Henry  IV  the  events  which 
he  is  preparing  for  France,  and  opens  to  him  the  secrets  of  his  providence 
■ander  allegorical  emblems,  which  will  be  explained  more  at  length. 


166  THE   HENKIADE. 

Hope's  blooming  offspring,  happy  Dreams,  succeed, 
And  give  the  pleasing,  though  ideal  meed. 
The  verdant  olive,  and  the  laurel  bough, 
Entwined  with  poppies,  grace  the  hero's  brow. 

On  Bourbon's  temples  Louis  placed  the  crown, 
Whose  radiant  honors  once  adorn'd  his  own. 
"  Go,  reign,"  he  cried,  "  and  triumph  o'er  thy  foes ; 
No  other  hope  the  race  of  Louis  knows. 
Yet  think  diviner  presents  to  receive. 
Far  more,  my  son,  than  royalty  I  give. 
"What  boots  renown  in  arms,  should  heaven  withhold 
Her  light,  more  precious  than  the  purest  gold  ? 
These  worldly  honors  are  a  barren  good ; 
Rewards  uncertain  on  the  brave  bestow'd : 
A  transient  greatness,  and  a  fading  wreath. 
Blasted  by  troubles,  and  destroy'd  by  death. 
Empire  more  durable,  for  thee  design'd, 
I  come  to  show  thee,  and  inform  thy  mind. 
Attend  my  steps  through  paths  thou  ne'er  hast  trod, 
And  fly  to  meet  the  bosom  of  thy  God." 

Thus  spoke  the  saint ;  they  mount  the  car  of  light. 
And  swiftly  traverse  the  ethereal  height. 
Thus  midnight  lightnings  flash,  while  thunders  roll, 
And  cleave  the  ambient  air  from  pole  to  pole. 
Thus  rose  Elijah  on  the  fiery  clouds ; 
The  radiant  ether  with  effulgence  glowed : 
To  purer  worlds,  array'd  in  glories  bright. 
The  prophet  fled,  and  vanish'd  from  the  sight. 

Amid  those  orbs,  which  move  by  certain  laws, 
Known  to  each  sage  whom  love  of  science  draws, 
The  sun  revolving  round  his  axle  turns, 


167 


TIIK    IIENRIADE. 

Shines  undiminish'd,  and  forever  burns. 

Thence  spring  those  golden  torrents,  which  bestow 

All  vital  warmth  and  vigor  as  they  flow. 

Thence  the  thrice  welcome  day  and  year  proceed ; 

Through  various  worlds  their  genial  influence  spread. 

The  rolling  planets  beam  with  borrow'd  rays, 

And  all  around  reflect  the  solar  blaze  ; 

Attract  each  other,'  and  each  other  shun  : 

And  end  their  courses  where  they  first  begun. 

Far  in  the  void  unnuraber'd  worlds  arise. 

And  suns  unnumber'd  light  the  azure  skies. 

Far  beyond  all,  the  God  of  heaven  resides, 

Marks  every  orbit,  every  motion  guides. 

Thither  the  hero  and  the  saint  repair. 
Myriads  of  spirits  are  created  there, 
Which  amply  people  all  the  globe,  and  fill 
The  human  bodies ;  such  the  Almighty's  will. 
There,  with  immortal  spirits  at  His  feet. 
The  Judge  all  wise  and  righteous  holds  His  seat : 
The  God  eternal,  in  all  climes  adored 
By  diff'erent  names,  Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord, 
Before  His  throne  our  plaintive  sorrows  rise  ; 
Our  errors  He  beholds  w^ith  pitying  eyes : 
Those  senseless  portraits,  figured  by  mankind, 
To  paint  His  image,  and  omniscient  mind. 
All  who  on  earth's  inferior  confines  breathe, 
Attend  His  summons  through  the  gates  of  death. 
The  eastern  sage,  with  holy  wisdom  fraught, 
The  sons  of  science,  whom  Confucius  taught ; 


1  "Whether  Newton's  theory  of  attraction  be  admitted  or  not,  it  is  certain 
that  the  celestial  bodies,  approaching  and  separating  from  each  other  by 
turns,  appear  to  attract  and  repel  one  another. 


168  THE  hi-:nriadp:. 

Those  who  succeed  in  Zoroaster's '  cause, 
And  blindly  yield  submission  to  his  laws : 
The  pale  inhabitants  of  Zembla's  coast, 
Columbia's  savage  sons  in  error  lost. 
The  gazing  Dervis  looking  vainly  round. 
At  God's  right  hand  no  prophet  to  be  found. 
The  Bonze,  with  gloomy,  penitential  broAV, 
No  comfort  finding  in  his  rigid  vow. 

At  once  enlighten'd,  all  the  dead  await, 
To  hear  their  sentence  and  approaching  fate. 
That  mighty  Being,  whose  extended  view. 
And  boundless  knowledge,  looks  all  nature  through. 
The  past,  the  present,  and  the  future  times, 
Rewards  their  love  or  punishes  their  crimes. 
The  prince  approach'd  not,  in  those  realms  of  light, 
Tlie  throne,  invisible  to  human  sight ; 
Whence  issues  forth  the  terrible  decree, 
Which  man  presumes  too  fondly  to  foresee. 

"  Is  God,"  said  Henry  to  himself,  "  unjust. 
That  God  in  whom  all  earthly  beings  trust  ? 
Will  the  Almighty  not  vouchsafe  to  save 
For  want  of  knowledge  w^hich  he  never  gave  ? 
Expect  religion  where  it  never  shone ; 
And  judge  the  universe  by  law^s  unknown  ? 
His  hand  created  all,  and  all  will  find 
That  heaven's  high  king  is  merciful,  and  kind. 
His  voice  informs  the  whole,  and  every  part ; 
Fair  nature's  laws  are  stamp'd  on  every  heart : 


1  In  Persia,  the  Guebers  have  a  religion  of  their  own,  which  they  pre- 
tend to  be  the  religion  founded  by  Zoroaster,  and  which  appears  less  in- 
sensate than  other  superstitions,  since  they  render  a  secret  worship  to  the 
sun,  as  an  image  of  the  Creator, 


THE   HENEIADE.  160 

Nature,  the  same  tlirougli  eacli  inferior  clime, 
Pure  and  unspotted  to  the  end  of  time. 
By  this  the  pagan's  sentence  will  proceed, 
And  this  accomplish'd,  they  are  His  indeed." 

While  thus,  with  reason  narrow  and  confined, 
On  truths  mysterious  he  employ'd  his  mind, 
A  solemn,  awful  voice  was  heard  around ; 
All  Heaven,  all  Nature,  shudder'd  at  the  sound. 
Such  were  the  thunders,  which  from  Sinai's  brow, 
Diffused  a  horror  through  the  plains  below. 
Each  seraph  glow'd  with  adoration's  fire, 
And  silence  reign'd  through  all  the  cherub  choir. 
The  rolling  spheres  the  sacred  accents  caught, 
And  truths  divine  to  other  planets  taught. 
"  Distrust  thy  mental  powers,  nor  blindly  stray, 
As  Pride  or  feebler  Reason  points  the  way ; 
The  High  Invisible  who  rules  above. 
Escapes  thy  knowledge,  but  demands  tKy  love. 
His  power  and  justice  punish,  and  control 
Each  wilful  error  of  the  stubborn  soul. 
To  pure  devotion  be  thy  heart  consign'd. 
When  Truth's  eff'ulgent  orb  illumes  thy  mind." 
These  were  the  sounds,  when,  through  the  fields  of  light, 
A  rapid  whirlwind  from  the  ethereal  height 
Convey'd  the  prince  to  dark  and  dreary  climes, 
Like  those  where  Chaos  reign'd  in  elder  times. 
No  solar  influence,  like  its  author  mild. 
Diffuses  comfort  through  the  savage  wild, 
Angels  abhor  the  desolated  waste. 
Which  life's  fair,  fruitful  blossom  never  graced. 
Confusion,  death,  each  terror  of  despair, 
Fix'd  on  his  throne,  presides  a  tyrant  there. 
O  heavens !  what  shrieks  of  woe,  what  piteous  cries, 


ITO     *'*:r^-'^^""       THE   HENRIADK. 

What  sulphurous  smoke,  what  hornd  tlaiiies  arise  ! 

What  fiends,  cried  Bourbon,  to  these  climes  retreat ! 

What  gulfs,  what  torrents,  burst  beneath  our  feet ! 

Behold,  the  saint  rcturn'd,  the  gates  of  hell, 

Which  justice  form'd,  where  impious  spirits  dwell. 

Come,  view  the  dismal  regions'  of  distress; 

These  paths  are  always  easy  of  access. 

Tliere  squint-eyed  Envy  lay,  whose  poisonous  breath 

Consumes  the  verdure  of  each  laurel  wreath  : 

In  night's  impenetrable  darkness  bred. 

She  hates  the  living,  but  applauds  the  dead. 

Her  sparkling  eyes,  which  shun  the  orb  of  day, 

Perceiving  Henry,  Envy  turn'd  away. 

Near  her,  self-loving,  self-admiring  Pride, 

And  downcast  Weakness,  ever  pale,  reside, — 

Weakness,  which  yields  to  each  persuasive  crime, 

And  crops  the  flower  of  virtue  in  its  prime. 

Ambition  there  with  headstrong  fury  raves. 

With  thrones  sun'ounded,  sepulchres,  and  slaves. 

Submissive,  meek  Hypocrisy  was  nigh. 

Hell  in  her  heart,  all  heaven  in  her  eye. 

There  Interest,  father  of  all  crimes,  appear'd. 

And  blinded  Zeal,  by  cruelty  revered. 

These  wild,  tyrannic  rulers  of  mankind. 

When  Henry  came,  their  savage  air  resign'd. 

Their  impious  troop  ne'er  rcach'd  his  purer  soul. 

Such  virtue  yields  not  to  their  mad  control. 

"  Who  comes,"  they  cried,  "  to  break  the  peaceful  rest 

Of  night  eternal,  and  these  shades  molest  ?" 

Our  hero  view'd  the  subterraneous  scene, 

1  Theologians  have  not  decided,  as  an  article  of  faith,  that  hell  is  in  the 
centre  of  the  earth,  as  it  was  in  pagan  theology.  Some  have  placed  it  in 
the  sun :  here  it  is  located  in  a  globe,  destined  expressly  for  this  purpose. 


THE    HENRIADE. 

And  slowly  travell'd  through  the  ranks  obscene. 
Louis  led  on  :  "  O  heaven  !  is  that  the  hand, 
Which  murder'd  Valois  at  the  League's  connnand  ? 
Is  that  the  monster  ?     Yes,  I  know  him  well, 
His  arm  still  holds  the  parricidal  steel. 
While  barbarous  priests  proclaim  the  wretch  divine, 
And  place  his  portrait  on  the  hallow'd  shrine, 
Though  Rome  and  faction  celebrate '  his  name 
To  hymns  and  praises,  hell  denies  his  claim." 

"Princes  and  kings,"  the  honor'd  saint  replied, 
"  Meet  in  these  realms  the  punishment  of  pride. 
Behold  those  tyrants,  once  adored  by  all, 
Whose  height  but  served  to  aggrandize  their  fall. 
God  pours  his  vengeance  on  the  sceptred  crowd. 
For  vice  committed,  and  for  crimes  allow'd. 
Death,  from  on  high,  commission'd  to  destroy. 
Cut  short  the  transport  of  each  wayw^ard  joy. 
No  pomp  of  greatness  could  the  victim  save ; 
Their  beams  of  glory  set  within  the  grave,     ^t.-— - 
Now  is  no  civil,  sly  deceiver  near. 
To  whisper  error  in  the  sovereign's  ear. 
Once  injured  Truth  the  sword  of  terror  draws. 
Displays  each  crime,  and  indicates  her  cause. 
Behold  yon  heroes  tremble  at  her  nod, 
Esteem'd  as  tyrants  in  the  eyes  of  God. 
Now  on  their  heads  descend  those  thunders  dire, 
Form'd  by  themselves  to  set  the  world  on  fire. 

I  The  regicide,  Jacques  Clement,  was  eulogized  at  Kome  in  the  pulpits 
where  xaneral  orations  on  Henry  III  should  have  been  pronounced.  His 
portrait  was  placed  with  the  eucharist  upon  the  altars  in  Paris.  Cardinal 
de  Retz  relates,  that  on  the  day  of  the  Battle  of  the  Barricades,  during  the 
minority  of  Louis  XIV,  he  saw  a  citizen  wearing  a  gorget,  upon  which 
was  engraved  a  likeness  of  this  monk,  with  these  words  :  "  Saint-Jacques 
Clement." 


172  THE    IIENKIADE. 

Close  by  their  side,  the  weakest  of  mankind, 
Each  listless,  feeble  monarch  is  reclined ; 
Whose  indolence  disgraced  the  subject  land. 
Mere  airy  forms,  mere  nothings  in  command." 
Henry  beheld  upon  these  kings  await, 
Their  once  imperious  ministers  of  State ; — 
Proud,  avaricious,  of  immoral  lives, 
Who  sold  what  honors  Mars  or  Themis  gives : 
Sold  what  our  fathers  purchased  by  their  blood, 
And  all  that's  precious  to  the  great  and  good. 
And  tell  me  now,  ye  pamper'd  sons  of  ease. 
Must  tender  spirits  dwell  in  climes  like  these  ? 
You,  who  on  flowery  couches  pass  away 
The  tranquil  moments  of  life's  useless  day ; 
Shall  virtue's  friends  in  fiery  torments  roll. 
Whose  faults  have  risen  from  expanse  of  soul  ? 
Shall  one  mistaken,  momentary  joy, 
Maturer  AVisdom's  plenteous  fruits  destroy  ? 

"  Is  this,"  he  cried,  "  the  lot  of  human  race — 
Condemn'd,  for  endless  ages,  to  distress  ? 
If  all  mankind  one  common  hell  devours,' 
Eternal  tortures  close  our  transient  hours. 
Who  was  not  more  in  non-existence  blest  ? 
Who  would  not  perish  in  his  mother's  breast  ? 

'  It  is  calculated  that  there  are  more  than  nine  hundred  and  fifty  mil- 
lions of  men  upon  the  earth ;  the  number  of  Catholics  is  about  fifty- 
millions.  If  the  twentieth  part  of  these  are  to  be  the  elect,  it  is  a  large 
allowance.  Then  there  are  at  present  upon  the  earth  947,500,000  men  who 
are  destined  to  the  eternal  pains  of  hell ;  and,  as  the  human  race  repairs 
its  losses  about  every  twenty  years,  it  will  be  found  by  averaging  the  most 
peopled  times  with  the  least  peopled  times,  and  counting  six  thousand 
years  since  the  Creation,  that  there  are  already  three  hundred  times  nine 
hundred  and  forty-seven  millions  of  the  damned.  Besides,  the  Jews  hav- 
ing been  a  hundred  times  less  numerous  than  the  Catholics,  the  number 
might  be  prodigiously  augmented.  This  calculation  was  certainly  enough 
to  bring  tears  from  the  eyes  of  Henry  IV. 


THE   HENRIADK.  173 

Far  happier  man !  had  God's  creative  hand 
Form'd  him  less  free,  in  innocence  to  stand  : 
Had  God,  thus  awfully  severe,  bestow'd 
The  sole  capacity  of  doing  good." 

"  Think  not,"  the  saint  replied,  "  that  sinners  feel 
Vengeance  too  heavy,  or  deserve  not  hell. 
Think  not  the  great  Creator  of  mankind. 
To  these,  His  works,  is  cruel  or  unkind. 
Lord  of  all  beings,  He  presides  above. 
With  mercy  infinite,  and  boundless  love. 
Though  mortals  see  the  tyrant  in  their  God, 
Parental  tenderness  directs  His  rod. 
Let  not  these  horrid  scenes  thy  soul  alarm ; 
Compassion  checks  the  fury  of  His  arm ; 
Nor  endless  punishments  inflicts  on  those 
Whose  faults  from  human  imperfection  rose  : 
Whose  pleasures,  follow'd  by  remorse,  have  been  • 
The  transient  cause  of  momentary  sin." ' 
Such  were  his  accents ;  to  the  realms  of  light 
Both  are  convey'd  with  instantaneous  flight. 
Infernal  darkness  shuns  those  flowery  plains. 
Where  spotless  innocence  forever  reigns. 
There  in  the  floods  of  purest  ether  play 
The  beams  refulgent  of  eternal  day. 
Each  blooming  scene  seraphic  joys  bestow'd, 
And  Henry's  soul  with  unknown  raptures  glow'd. 
There  tranquil  pleasure  spreads  her  every  charm. 
Which  thought  can  fancy,  or  which  heaven  can  form. 
No  cares  solicit,  and  no  passions  move ; 
But  all  is  govern'd  by  angelic  love. 


1  Venial  faults,  and  purgatory,  may  be  understood  as  spoken  of  here. 
The  ancients  admitted  this  idea,  and  it  is  clearly  expressed  in  Virgil. 


174  TIIE   HENRI ADE. 

Far  other  love  than  that  of  wild  desires, 

"Which  grosser  sense  and  luxury  inspires. 

The  bright,  the  sacred  flame,  on  earth  unknown, 

Which  burns  in  heaven,  and  heavenly  minds  alone 

Its  chaste  endearments  all  their  hours  employ. 

And  endless  wishes  meet  with  endless  joy. 

There  dw^ell  true  heroes ;  there  each  pious  sage, 

And  monarchs,  once  the  glory  of  their  age. 

Thence  Charlemagne  and  Clovis'  turn  their  eyes 

On  Gallia's  empire  from  the  azure  skies  : 

On  golden  thrones  forever  placed  sublime. 

And  clad  in  honors  unimpair'd  by  time. 

There  fiercest  foes  the  happy  union  prove 

Of  pure  affection,  and  a  brother's  love. 

Louis*  the  wise,  amid  the  royal  band. 

Tall  as  a  cedar,  issues  his  command, — 

Louis,  of  France  the  glory  and  the  pride, 

Who  ruled  our  realms  with  Justice  by  his  side. 

Oft  would  he  pardon,  oft  relief  supply, 

And  wipe  the  falling  tear  from  every  eye. 

D'Amboise '  is  still  commission'd  to  attend ; 

His  faithful  minister  and  warmest  friend. 

To  him  alone  was  Gallia's  honor  dear  : 

To  him  alone  her  homage  was  sincere. 

His  gentler  hands  were  sullied  not  with  blood  ; 

His  every  wish  was  centred  in  her  good. 


1  It  is  needless  to  examine  in  a  poem  whether  or  not  Clovis,  Charle- 
magne, Francis  I,  Charles  V,  etc.,  are  saints ;  it  is  si;flBcient  that  tlicy  have 
been  great  kings,  and  that  they  ouglit  to  be  regarded  as  happy,  since  they 
lived  and  died  like  Christians. 

^  Louis  XII  is  the  only  king  who  received  the  name  of  Fatlier  of  tlie 
People. 

3  "  In  the  mean  time,  George  d' Amboise  died.  He  was  justly  loved  by 
France  and  by  his  king,  because  he  had  an  equal  love  for  both." — (Meze- 
ray,  Grande  Histoire.) 


THE    IlEXRIADE.  17> 

Oh,  spotless  manners  !  bright  and  halcyon  days  ! 
Worthy  eternal  memory  and  praise. 
Then  wholesome  laws  adorn'd  and  bless'd  the  State ; 
Subjects  were  happy,  and  the  monarch  great. 
Return,  ye  halcyon  days,  with  golden  wing. 
And  equal  blessings,  equal  honors  bring. 
Virtue,  descend  !  another  Louis  frame. 
As  rich  in  merit,  and  as  great  in  fame. 

Farther  remote,  those  worthy  heroes  stood, 
Careless  of  life,  and  prodigal  of  blood. 
Who  died  with  transport  for  the  public  weal ; 
Led  on  by  duty,  not  enraged  by  zeal. 
Brave  Montmorency,'  Trimouille,'^  Clisson,  Foi?c, 
Who  fought  their  passage  to  those  fields  of  joy. 
There  Guesclin^  drinks  of  pleasure's  purer  springs  : 
Guesclin,  the  avenger,  and  the  dread  of  kings. 
There  Bayard ;''  there  the  Amazonian*  dame. 
The  tottering  throne's  support,  and  England's  shame. 


1  Montmorency.  It  would  require  a  volume  to  specify  the  services  done 
to  the  State  by  this  family. 

5  Among  many  great  men  of  this  name,  Guy  de  Trimouille  is  particularly 
alluded  to.  He  was  surnamed  The  Valiant;  he  carried  the  oriliamme,  and 
refused  the  high  constable's  sword  in  the  reign  of  Charles  VI. 

Clisson  (high  constable,  etc.)  under  Charles  VI. 

Gaston  de  Foix,  duke  de  Nemours,  and  nephew  of  Louis  XII.  He  was 
slain  at  the  famous  battle  of  Ravenna;  having  received  fourteen  wounds, 
and  defeated  the  enemy.     Some  editions  name  Dunois  here. 

3  Guesclin.  France  owed  her  preservation  to  this  great  man,  m  the  reign 
of  Charles  V.  He  conquered  Castile,  placed  Henry  of  Transtamare  upon 
the  throne  of  Peter  the  Cruel,  and  was  constable  of  France  and  Castile. 

*  Bayard  (Pierre  du  Terrail,  called  the  Knight  without  fear  and  without 
rcpnoach).  He  knighted  Francis  I,  after  the  battle  of  Marignano.  He  was 
plain  in  1523,  during  the  retreat  of  Eebec. 

6  Joan  d'Arc,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans.  She  was  a 
servant-maid  at  an  inn,  and  born  at  the  village  of  Domremy  upon  the 
Meuse:  being  superior  to  her  sex  in  strength  of  body  and  bravery  of 
mind,  she  was  employed  by  the  Count  de  Dunois  to  retrieve  the  fortunes 
of  Charles  VII.     She  was  taken  in  a  sally  at  Compeigne  in  tlie  year  1430, 


176  THE   HENRI ADE. 

"  These,"  cried  the  saint,  "  who  now  possess  the  skies. 
Like  thee,  with  glory  dazzled  Europe's  eyes. 
Virtue  alone,  their  simpler  minds  could  move  : 
The  Church  was  gladden'd  by  their  filial  love. 
Like  me,  they  honor'd  truth's  diviner  name ; 
Our  worship  uniform,  our  Church  the  same. 
Say,  why  does  Bourbon  scorn  her  gentle  laws, 
Or  why  defend  a  schism's  weaker  cause  ?" 

Time,  with  incessant  flight,  prepared  to  roam, 
Quits  and  revisits  this  terrific  dome. 
And  pours,  with  plenteous  hand,  on  all  mankind 
The  good  and  evil  for  each  race  design'd. 
An  altar  high,  of  massy  iron,  bears 
The  fatal  annals  of  succeeding  years. 
Where  God's  own  hand  has  mark'd,  nor  mark'd  in  vain, 
Each  transient  pleasure,  each  severer  pain. 
There  Liberty,  that  haughty  slave,  is  bound. 
With  chains  invisible  encircled  round. 


conducted  to  Rouen,  tried  as  a  sorceress  in  an  ignorant  and  barbarous  ec- 
clesiastical court,  and  burned  by  the  English,  who  ought  to  have  honored 
her  courage. 

Monstrelet,  a  contemporaneous  author,  thus  speaks  of  the  Maid  of  Or- 
leans : 

"In  the  year  1428,  there  came  to  King  Charles  of  France,  at  Chinon,  a 
young  girl  aged  twenty  years,  named  Jeanne,  Avho  was  dressed  in  the 
fashion  of  a  man,  and  was  from  the  region  between  Burgundy  and  Lor- 
raine, of  a  city  named  Droimi,  now  called  Domremy,  pretty  near  to  Vau- 
couleur ;  which  girl  Jeanne  was,  for  a  great  space  of  time,  housemaid  at 
an  inn ;  and  was  bold  to  ride  horses,  to  lead  them  to  drink,  and  to  do  other 
clever  things  which  young  girls  are  not  accustomed  to  do,"  etc. 

Every  one  knows  how  tliis  maiden  was  employed  to  revive  the  courage 
of  the  French  who  required  a  miracle  to  arouse  them.  That  they  believed 
her  to  have  been  sent  from  God,  is  enough  to  give  a  poet  the  riglit  to  place 
her  in  heaven,  among  the  heroes.  Mezeray  says,  quite  soberly,  that  Saint 
Michel  the  commander  of  the  celestial  army  appeared  to  this  maiden,  etc. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  if  the  French  were  too  credulous  to  the  Maid  of  Orleans, 
the  English  were  too  cruel  in  burning  her,  for  they  had  nothing  whereof  to 
complain  except  her  courage  and  their  defeat. 


THE   HENRI ADE.  177 

Beneath  the  yoke  she  bends  her  stubborn  head, 
Still  unconstrain'd,  unconscious  of  the  deed. 
This  suppliant  turn  that  hidden  chain  supplies, 
Wisely  conceal'd  forever  from  her  eyes. 
The  Fates  appear,  her  sentence  to  fulfil : 
Each  action  seems  the  product  of  free-will. 

"From  thence,"  cried  Louis,  "  on  the  human  race 
Descends  the  influence  of  heavenly  grace. 
In  future  times  its  power  thy  tongue  shall  tell : 
Its  purer  radiance  all  thy  heart  shall  feel. 
Those  precious  moments  God  alone  bestows ; 
No  mortal  hastens,  and  no  being  knows. 
But  oh,  how  slowly  comes  that  period  on, 
When  God  shall  love,  and  own  thee  for  his  son ! 
Too  long  shall  weakness  hide  thy  brighter  rays ; 
And  lead  thy  steps  through  error's  slippery  ways. 
Teach  him,  kind  heaven,  the  happier,  better  road ; 
Shorten  the  days  which  part  him  from  his  God. 

"  But  see  what  crowds  in  long  succession  press 
Through  the  vast  region  of  unbounded  space. 
These  sacred  mansions  to  thy  view  display 
The  unborn  offspring  of  some  future  day. 
All  times  and  places  are  forever  nigh. 
All  beings  present  to  Jehovah's  eye. 
Here  Fate  has  mark'd  their  destined  hour  of  birth, 
Their  rise,  their  grandeur,  and  their  fall  on  earth. 
The  various  changes  of  each  life  to  come, 
Their  vices,  virtues,  and  their  final  doom. 
Draw  near,  for  Heaven  alloAvs  us  to  foresee 
What  kings  and  heroes  shall  descend  from  thee. 
That  graceful  personage  is  Bourbon's  son, 
Form'd  to  support  the  glory  of  the  crown. 


178  THK   HEItBIADE. 

The  warlike  leader  shall  his  tnumphs  boast 
O'er  Belgia's  plains,  and  proud  Iberia's  coast. 
To  deeds  more  noble  shall  his  son  aspire ; 
And  wreaths  more  splendid  first  adorn  his  sire." 

On  beds  of  lilies,  near  a  towering  throne, 
Two  radiant  foiins  before  our  hero  shone. 
Monarchs  they  seem'd,  of  high,  imperious  pride, 
And  Roman  purple  flowed  adown  their  side. 
A  subject  nation  couch'd  beneath  their  feet, 
And  guards  unnumber'd  form'd  the  train  complete. 
"  These,"  said  the  saint,  "  are  call'd  to  endless  fame : 
In  all  things  sovereigns,  save  the  royal  name. 
Richelieu  and  Mazarin,  designVl  by  fate 
Immortal  ministers  of  Gallia's  State. 
To  them  shall  Policy  consign  her  aid, 
And  fortune  raise  them  from  the  altar's  shade. 
Ruled  by  despotic  powder,  shall  France  confess 
Great  Richelieu's  genius,  Mazarin's  address. 
One  flics'  with  art  before  the  rising  storm  : 
One  braves  all  danger  in  it's  fiercest  form  : 
Both  to  the  princes  of  our  royal  blood. 
With  hate  relentless,  enemies  avow'd. 
"With  high  ambition  and  with  pride  inspired. 
By  all  disliked,  and  yet  by  all  admired  ; 
Their  artful  schemes  and  industry  shall  bring 
Plagues  on  their  country,  glory  on  their  king. 

"  O  thou,  great  Colbert,  whose  enlighten'd  mind 
Schemes  less  extensive  for  our  good  design'd ! 

1  Cardinal  Mazarin  was  obliged  to  leave  the  kingdom  in  the  year  1651, 
notwithstanding  he  had  the  entire  government  of  the  queen  regent.  Car- 
dinal Kichelieu,  on  the  contrary,  always  maintained  his  situation  in  spite 
of  his  enemies,  and  of  the  king,  who  was  disgusted  at  his  behavior. 


THE  hp:nriade.  179 

No  lustre  equals,  none  excels  thy  own, 

Save  that  which  gilds,  and  decorates  the  crown. 

Nursed  by  thy  genius,  heaven-born  Plenty  reigns, 

And  pours  her  treasures  over  Gallia's  plains. 

Colbert  by  generous  deeds  to  glory  rose : 

His  only  vengeance  was  to  bless  his  foes.' 

Thus  were  dispensed  the  gifts  of  heavenly  grace, 

By  God's  own  confident,  on  Israel's  race  : 

That  race,  whose  blasphemy  could  ne'er  remove 

Or  quench  the  beams  of  mercy  and  of  love. 

"  What  troops  of  slaves  before  that  monarch  stand,'' 
What  numbers  tremble  at  his  high  command ! 
No  king  did  Gallia  ever  yet  obey 
With  such  profound  submission  to  his  sway. 
Though  less  beloved,  more  dreaded  in  her  eyes. 
Like  thee,  he  claims  fair  glory's  richest  prize. 
Firm  in  all  dangers,  in  success  too  warm. 
When  fortune  smiles  and  conquest  meets  his  arm. 
Himself  shall  crush,  superior  to  intrigue. 
Full  twenty  nations  join'd  in  powerful  league. 
Praise  shall  attend  him  to  his  latest  breath, 
Great  in  his  life,  but  greater  in  his  death. 
Thrice  happy  age  !  when  Nature's  lavish  hand 
With  all  her  graces  shall  adorn  the  land. 
Thrice  happy  age !  when  every  art  refined, 
Spreads  her  fair  polish  o'er  the  ruder  mind. 
The  Muse  forever  our  retreats  shall  love 
More  than  the  shades  of  Aganippe's  grove. 


1  The  people,  that  blind  and  savage  monster,  held  the  great  Colbert  in 
such  detestation,  that  they  would  have  dug  his  body  out  of  the  ground  ; 
but  the  approbation  of  men  of  sense,  which  at  length  prevailed,  has  ren- 
dered his  name  forever  dear  and  respected. 

2  Louis  XIV. 


180  THE   HENRI ADE. 

From  sculptured  stone  the  seeming  accent  flows ; 
With  animated  tints  the  canvas  glows. 
What  sons  of  science '  in  that  period  rise, 
Measure  the  universe,  and  read  the  skies ! 
The  purer  ray  of  philosophic  light 
Reveals  all  nature,  and  dispels  the  night. 
Presumptuous  Error  from  their  view  retreats ; 
Truth  crowns  their  labors,  and  their  joy  completes. 
Thy  accents  too,  sweet  Music,  strike  mine  ear — 
Music,  descended  from  the  heavenly  sphere. 
'Tis  thine  to  soothe,  to  soften,  and  control 
Each  wayward  passion  of  the  rufl^ed  soul. 
Unpolish'd  Greece,  and  Italy  have  own'd 
Tlie  strong  enchantments  of  thy  magic  sound. 
The  subjects  ruled  by  Gallia's  powerful  king 
Shall  bravely  conquer,  and  as  sweetly  sing ; 
Shall  join  the  poet's  to  the  warrior's  praise. 
And  twine  Bellona's  with  Apollo's  bays. 
E'en  now  I  see  this  second  age  of  gold 
Produce  a  people  of  heroic  mould. 
Here  numerous  armies  skim  before  my  sight ; 
Tliere  fly  the  Bourbons,  eager  for  the  fight. 
At  once  his  master's  terror  and  support. 
Great  Conde  *  makes  the  flames  of  war  his  sport. 
Turenne  more  calmly  meets  the  hostile  power, 


»  The  Academy  of  Sciences,  whose  transactions  are  esteemed  throughout 
all  Europe. 

'■'  Louis  de  Bourbon,  generally  called  the  great  Conde,  and  Henry,  vis- 
count de  Turenne,  have  been  regarded  as  the  greatest  generals  of  their 
time.  They  both  gained  very  important  victories,  and  acquired  glory  even 
in  their  defeats.  The  genius  of  the  Prince  de  Conde  seemed,  as  was  said, 
more  proper  for  a  day  of  battle,  and  that  of  Turenne  for  a  whole  campaign. 
It  is  certain,  at  least,  that  Turenne  gained  considerable  advantages  over 
the  great  Conde  at  Gien,  Etampes,  Paris,  Arras,  and  the  battle  of  the 
Dunes.  We  shall  not,  however,  attempt  to  decide  which  was  the  greater 
man. 


THE    HENRIADK.  181 

In  arms  liis  equal,  and  in  wisdom  more. 

Assemblage  rare  !  in  Catinat '  are  seen 

The  hero's  talents,  and  the  sage's  mien. 

Known  by  his  compass,  Vauban,^  from  the  tower. 

Smiles  at  the  tumult,  and  the  cannon's  roar. 

England  shall  tell  of  Luxembourg's  ^  renown. 

In  war  invincible,  at  court  unknown. 

Onward  I  see  the  martial  Villars^  move 

To  wrest  the  thunders  from  the  bird  of  Jove : 


^  Marshal  Catinat,  born  in  1637.  He  gained  the  battle  of  Staftarde  and 
de  la  Marsaille ;  and  obeyed,  without  reluctance  or  a  murmur,  Marshal 
Villerois,  who  sent  him  orders  without  consulting  him.  He  resigned  his 
command  with  the  utmost  composure  ;  never  complained  of  any  person's 
treatment ;  asked  nothing  of  the  king,  and  died  like  a  true  philosopher, 
at  his  country-seat,  at  Saint-Gratien.  He  never  augmented  or  diminished 
his  estate,  and  never  for  a  moment  acted  unworthy  his  character  as  a  man 
of  temperance  and  moderation. 

2  Marshal  Vauban,  born  in  1633,  was  the  greatest  engineer  that  ever 
lived.  He  repaired,  upon  a  new  plan  of  his  own,  no  less  than  three 
hundred  fortifications,  and  built  thirty -three.  He  conducted  fifty-three 
sieges,  and  was  present  at  one  hundred  and  forty  actions.  He  left  behind 
him,  at  his  death,  twelve  manuscript  volumes,  full  of  projects  for  the  pub- 
lic good,  none  of  which  has  ever  yet  been  executed.  He  was  a  member  of 
the  Academy  of  Sciences,  and  did  more  honor  to  it  than  any  other  person, 
by  rendering  mathematics  subservient  to  the  advantage  of  his  country. 

3  Francis  Henry  de  Montmorency,  who  took  the  name  of  Luxembourg, 
was  marshal  of  France,  and  duke  and  peer  of  the  realm.  He  gained  the 
battle  of  Cassel,  u.der  the  orders  of  Monsieur,  the  brother  of  Louis  XIV, 
and,  as  commander-in-chief,  won  the  celebrated  victories  of  Mons,  Fleurus, 
Steinkirk,  and  Nerwinde.  He  was  confined  to  the  Bastile,  and  exceedingly 
ill-treated  by  the  ministry. 

*  It  was  the  author's  original  design  to  mention  no  living  character 
throughout  the  whole  poem  ;  and  the  rule  proposed  has  only  been  deviated 
from  in  favor  of  t  e  Marshal  Duke  de  Villars.  He  gained  the  battle  of 
Fredelingue,  and  that  of  the  first  Hoehstedt.  It  is  remarkable  that  in  this 
engagement  he  posted  himself  on  the  same  spot  of  ground  which  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough  afterwards  occupied  when  he  won  that  very  signal  victory 
of  the  second  Hoehstedt,  so  fatal  to  France,  Upon  resuming  the  com- 
mand of  the  army,  the  marshal  was  afterwards  engaged  in  the  famous 
battle  of  Blangis,  or  Malplaquet,  in  which  twenty  thousand  of  the  enemy 
were  slain,  and  which  was  lost  only  when  he  fell  wounded.  In  the 
year  1712,  when  the  enemy  threatened  to  proceed  to  Paris,  and  it  was  de- 
liberated whether  Louis  XIV  should  not  quit  Versailles,  the  Marslial  de 


182  THE   HENEIADE. 

Conquest  attends  to  bid  the  battle  cease, 
And  leaves  him  sovereign  arbiter  of  peace. 
Denain  shall  own  brave  Villars  to  have  been 
The  worthy  rival  of  the  great  Eugene. 

"What  princely  youth'  draws  near,  whose  manly  face 
United  majesty  and  sweetness  grace  ? 
See  how  unmoved ! — O  heavens !  what  sudden  shade 
Conceals  the  beauties  which  his  form  display'd  ! 
Death  flutters  round ;  health,  beauty,  all  is  gone  : 
He  falls,  just  ready  to  ascend  the  throne. 
Him  Heaven  form'd  for  all  that's  just  and  good  : 
Descended,  Bourbon,  from  thy  royal  blood. 
0  gracious  God  !  shall  Fate  but  show  mankind 
A  flower  so  sweet,  and  virtues  so  refined  ? 
What  could  a  soul  so  generous  not  obtain ! 
What  joys  would  France  experience  from  his  reign ! 
Produced  and  nurtured  by  his  fostering  hand, 
Fair  peace  and  plenty  had  enrich'd  the  land  ; 
Each  day  some  new  beneficence  had  brought. 
Oh,  how  shall  Gallia  weep  !  alarming  thought ! 
When  one  dark,  silent  sepulchre  contains 
The  son's,  the  mother's,  and  the  sire's  remains ! 

"  Fallen  is  the  tree,  and  from  it's  ruins  springs 
A  young  successor  to  famed  Gallia's  kings, — 
A  tender  shoot,'  from  whose  increasing  shade 


Villars  defeated  Prince  Engene  at  Denain,  dislodged  the  enemy  from  their 
post  at  Marchiennes,  raised  the  siege  of  Landrecies,  took  Douay,  Quesnoy, 
and  Bouchain,  at  discretion,  and  afterwards  agreed  upon  a  peace  at  Ra- 
stadt,  in  the  king's  name,  with  the  same  Prince  Eugene,  tlie  emperor's 
plenipotentiary. 

1  The  late  Duke  of  Burgundy. 

2  This  poem  was  composed  during  the  infancy  of  Louis  XV. 


THE   HENEIADE.  183 

France  may  derive  some  salutary  aid. 
Conduct  liim,  Fleury,  to  the  throne  of  truth  ; 
Wait  on  his  years,  and  cultivate  his  youth. 
Teach  him  self-knowledge,  and,  if  Fleury  can, 
Teach  him  that  Louis  is  no  more  than  man. 
Inspire  each  virtue  which  can  life  adorn ; 
Kings  for  their  subjects,  not  themselves,  are  born. 
And  thou,  O  France,  once  more  arise  to-day — 
Resume  thy  majesty  beneath  his  sway. 
Let  every  science  which  retired  before, 
Crown  thy  fair  temples,  and  adorn  thy  shore. 
The  azure  waters  with  thy  navies  sweep  ; 
So  wills  the  monarch  of  the  hoary  deep. 
See,  from  the  Nile,  the  Euxine,  and  the  Ind, 
Each  port  by  nature,  or  by  art  design'd  ; 
Commerce  aloud  demands  thee  for  her  seat. 
And  spreads  her  richest  treasures  at  thy  feet. 
Adieu  to  terror,  and  adieu  to  war, 
The  peaceful  olive  be  thy  future  care. 

"  Pursued  by  envy  and  distraction's  crew, 
A  chief '  renown'd  advances  to  the  view : 
Easy,  not  weak,  when  glory  spurs  him  on, 
Engaged  by  novelties,  by  trifles  won. 
Though  luxury  display  a  thousand  charms. 
And  smiling  pleasure  court  her  to  his  arms, 
Yet  shall  he  keep  all  Europe  in  suspense, 
By  artful  politics  and  manly  sense. 
The  world  shall  move  as  Orleans  shall  guide, 
And  every  science  flourish  at  his  side  : 
Empire,  my  son,  himself  shall  never  reach  ; 
'Tis  his  the  art  of  government  to  teach." 

A  true  portrrdt  of  Philippe,  duke  d'Orleans,  regent  of  the  kingdom. 


184  THE   HENRI ADE. 

Now  burst  the  lightning  from  the  opening  skies, 
And  Gallia's  standard  waved  before  their  eyes. 
Iberia's  troops,  array'd  in  arms  complete. 
The  German  eagle  crush'd  beneath  their  feet. 
When  thus  the  saint :  "  No  more  remains  the  trace 
Of  Charles  the  Fifth,  his  glory,  or  his  race. 
Each  earthly  being  has  its  final  hour ; 
Eternal  wisdom  let  us  all  adore — 
From  thence  all  human  revolutions  spring  : 
E'en  Spain  from  Bourbon  shall  request  a  king. 
Illustrious  Philip  shall  receive  the  crown. 
And  sit  as  monarch  on  Iberia's  throne." 
Surprise  was  soon  succeeded  by  delight, 
And  Henry's  soul  enraptured  at  the  sight. 
"  Repress  thy  transports,"  cried  the  saint,  "  and  dread 
This  great  event,  this  present  to  Madrid. 
Say,  who  can  fathom  Heaven's  conccal'd  intent? 
Dangers  may  come,  and  Paris  may  repent. 
O  Philip  !  O  my  sons  !  shall  France  and  Spain 
Thus  meet,  and  never  be  disjoin'd  again  !     - 
How  long  shall  fatal  politics'  forbear 
To  light  the  flames  of  discord  and  of  war  ?" 

Thus  Louis  spoke — when,  lo  !  the  scene  withdrew  : 
Each  object  vanish'd  from  our  hero's  view  ; 
The  sacred  portals  closed  before  his  eyes. 
And  sudden  darkness  overspread  the  skies. 
Far  in  the  east,  Aurora,  moving  on, 
Unlock'd  the  golden  chambers  of  the  sun. 
Night's  sable  robe  o'er  other  climes  was  spread. 
Each  dream  retired,  and  every  flitting  shade. 


1  At  the  time  this  was  written,  the  royal  house  of  France  and  the  royal 
house  of  Spain  seemed  disunited. 


THE    HENRIADE.  185 

The  prince  arose,  with  heavenly  ardor  fired — 

Unusual  vigor  all  his  soul  inspired. 

Fear  and  respect,  great  Bourbon,  now  were  thine ; 

Full  on  thy  brow  sat  majesty  divine. 

Thus,  when  before  the  tribes,  great  Moses  stood, 

Return'd  at  length  from  Sinai,  and  from  God,  / 

His  eyeballs  flash'd  intolerable  light,  L "^ 

Each  prostrate  Hebrew  shudder'd  at  the  sight. 


THE    HENRIADE 


CANTO  VIII 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  Earl  of  Egmont  comes  to  assist  Mayne  and  the  League.  Battle  of 
Ivry,  in  which  Mayne  is  defeated  and  Egmont  slain.  Valor  and  clem- 
ency of  Henry  the  Great. 


CANTO  THE  EIGHTH. 


Dejected  by  their  loss,  the  States  appear 
Less  haughty,  and  assume  an  humbler  air ; 
Henry  such  terror  in  their  hearts  had  wrought, 
Their  king-creating  schemes  were  all  forgot. 
Wavering  and  weak  in  counsel,  and  afraid 
To  crown  their  idol  Mayne,  or  to  degrade. 
By  vain  decrees  they  labor  to  complete 
And  ratify  a  power,  not  given  him  yet. 

This  sclf-commission'd  chief,'  this  king  uncrown'd, 
In  chains  of  iron  rule  his  faction  bound  ; 
His  willing  slaves,  obedient  to  his  laws, 
Kesolve  to  fight  and  perish  in  his  cause. 
Thus  flush'd  with  hope,  to  council  he  convenes 
The  haughty  lords,  on  whom  his  fortune  leans  : 
Lorrains,^  Nemours,  la  Chatre,  Canillac, 
Joyeuse^  inconstant,  and  Saint  Paul,  Brissac. 

1  He  was  declared  by  the  parliament,  which  continued  attached  to  him, 
Lieutenant-general  of  the  State,  and  kingdom  of  France. 

»  The  Lorrains,  The  Chevalier  d'Aumale,  so  often  spoken  of,  and  his 
brother  the  duke,  were  of  the  house  of  Lorraine. 

Charles  Emmanuel,  duke  de  Nemours,  was  half-brother  of  the  Duke  de 
Mayenne. 

La  Chatre  was  one  of  the  marshals  of  the  League. 

'  This  is  the  same  Joyeuse  spoken  of  in  the  first  note  to  the  fourth  canto. 

Saint  Paul,  a  soldier  of  fortune,  was  made  marshal  by  the  Duke  de 
Mayenne.     He  was  slain  by  the  Duke  de  Guise,  son  of  the  Balafre. 

Brissac  joined  the  League,  thi-ough  indignation  against  Henry  IH,  who 
said  that  he  was  useless  either  upon  the  land  or  the  sea.    He  afterwards 


190  TH^:   HENRI ADE. 

They  came  :  despair,  and  unextinguisli'd  hate, 
And  malice  on  their  faded  features  sate ; 
Some  tremble  in  their  peace,  and  feebly  tread. 
Faint  with  the  loss  of  blood  in  battle  shed ; 
But  keen  resentment  prompts  them  to  repair 
Their  losses,  and  revenge  the  wounds  they  bear. 
Before  the  chief  their  sullen  ranks  they  range. 
And  grasp  Iheir  shining  arms,  and  vow  revenge. 
So  the  fierce  sons  of  earth,  as  fable  feigns, 
Where  Pelion  overlooks  Thessalia's  plains, 
With  mountains  piled  on  mountains,  vainly  strove, 
To  scale  the  everlasting  throne  of  Jove. 
When  sudden,  on  a  car  of  radiant  light 
Exalted,  Discord  flash'd  upon  their  sight ; 
"  Courage,"  she  said ;  "  'tis  now  the  times  demand 
Your  fix'd  resolves :  lo !  succor  is  at  hand." 
First  ran  d'Aumale,  and  joyful,  from  afar 
Beheld  the  Spanish  lances  gleam  in  air ; 
Then  cried  aloud,  "  'Tis  come ;  the  expected  aid, 
So  oft  demanded,  and  so  long  delay'd." 

Near  to  that  hallow'd  spot,  where  rest  revered 
The  relics  of  our  kings,  their  march  appear'd ; 
The  groves  of  polish'd  spears,  the  harness  bound 
With  circling  gold,  the  shining  helms  around. 
Against  the  sun  with  full  reflection  play, 
Kival  his  light,  and  shed  a  second  day. 
To  meet  their  march  the  roaring  rabble  went. 
And  hail'd  the  mighty  chief  Madrid  had  sent. 
That  chief  was  Egmont,'  famed  for  martial  fire — 

made  secret  overtures  to  Henry  IV  to  open  to  him  the  gates  of  Paris,  in 
consideration  of  receiving  the  baton  of  the  Marshal  of  France. 

»  The  Count  d'Egmont,  son  of  Lamoral,  count  d'Egmont,  who  was  be- 
headed at  Brussels  with  the  Prince  de  Horn,  June  5,  1568. 

The  son  remaining  attached  to  the  party  of  Philip  II,  king  of  Spain,  was 


THE    HENRIADE. 


191 


Ambitious  son  of  an  unhappy  sire  ; 

At  Brussels  first  he  drew  the  vital  air. 

His  country's  weal  was  all  his  father's  care ; 

Por  that,  the  rage  of  tyrants  he  defied, 

And  in  the  cause  of  freedom  bravely  died. 

The  servile  son,  as  base  as  he  was  proud, 

Fawn'd  on  that  hand  which  shed  his  fathers  blood ; 

For  sordid  interest,  join'd  his  country's  foes. 

And  fought  for  France,  regardless  of  her  woes. 

Him  Philip  station'd  on  the  banks  of  Seine, 

Both  as  a  guard  and  counsellor  to  Mayne ; 

Nor  doubted  Mayne  but  slaughter  and  dismay 

Should  spread  to  Bourbon's  tent,  when  Egmont  led  the 

way. 
With  heedless  arrogance  their  march  they  drew. 
And  Henry's  heart  exulted  at  the  view  : 
Gods !  how  his  eager  hopes  anticipate 
And  meet  the  moment  that  decides  his  fate ! 

Their  streams  where  Iton  ^  and  fair  Eure  lead, 
By  nature  blest,  a  fertile  plain  is  spread ; 
No  wars  had  yet  approach'd  the  peaceful  scene, 
No  w^arrior's  footstep  press'd  the  flowery  green  : 
The  shepherds  there,  while  civil  rage  destroy'd 
The  regions  round,  their  happy  hours  enjoy'd. 
Screen'd  by  their  poverty,  they  seem'd  secure 
From  lawless  rapine  and  the  soldier's  power. 


sent  to  the  aid  of  the  Duke  de  Mayenne,  at  the  head  of  eighteen  hundred 
lancers.  On  entering  Paris,  he  received  the  compliments  of  the  city.  The 
person  who  addressed  him,  praised,  during  the  course  of  his  speech,  his 
fatlier.  "  Do  not  speak  of  him,"  said  the  count ;  "  he  deserved  death,  he 
was  a  traitor :"  words  which  were  the  more  to  be  condemned,  as  he  spoke 
to  rebels,  whose  cause  he  had  come  to  defend. 

i  The  battle  of  Ivry  took  place,  March  14,  1590,  on  a  plain  between  the 
Iton  and  the  Eure. 


192  TIIK   IIENRIADE. 

Nor  heard  beneath  their  humble  roofs  the  jar 
Of  arms,  or  clamor  of  the  sounding  war. 

Thither  each  hostile  leader  his  array- 
Directs,  and  desolation  marks  their  way ; 
A  sudden  horror  strikes  the  trembling  floods, 
The  frighted  shepherds  seek  the  sheltering  woods, 
The  partners  of  their  grief  attend  their  flight. 
And  bear  their  weeping  infants  from  the  sight. 

Ye  hapless  natives  of  this  sweet  recess ! 
Charge  not  at  least  your  king  with  your  distress : 
For  peace  he  courts  the  combat,  and  his  hand 
Shall  shed  the  bounteous  blessing  o'er  the  land ; 
He  shares  your  sorrows,  and  shall  end  your  woes, 
Nor  seeks  you,  but  to  save  you  from  your  foes. 

Along  the  ranks  he  darts  his  piercing  eyes ; 
Swift  as  the  winds  his  foaming  courser  flies, 
Who,  of  his  burden  proud,  hears  with  delight 
The  trumpet's  sound,  and  scents  the  promised  fight. 

Crown'd  with  his  laurels,  at  their  master's  side 
A  well  distinguish'd  group  of  warriors  ride  : 
D'Aumont,'  beneath  five  kings  a  chief  renown'd, 
Biron,*^  whose  name  bore  terror  in  the  sound, 

»  Jean  d'Aumont,  marshal  of  France,  who  did  wonders  at  the  battle  of 
Ivry,  was  the  son  of  Pierre  d'Aumont,  gentleman  of  the  bedchamber,  and 
of  FranQoise  de  Sully,  heiress  of  the  ancient  house  of  Sully.  He  served 
under  kings  Henry  II,  Francis  II,  Charles  IX,  Henry  III,  and  Henry  IV. 

»  Henry  de  Goutant  de  Biron,  marshal  of  France,  and  grand  master  of 
the  artillery,  was  a  man  of  war.  At  Ivry,  he  commanded  the  corps  de 
reserve,  and  contributed  to  the  successful  termination  of  the  battle  by 
falling  upon  the  enemy  at  the  proper  moment.  He  said  to  Henry  the 
Great,  after  the  victory :  "  Sire,  you  have  done  what  Biron  should  have 
done,  and  Biron,  what  the  king  should  have  done."  This  marshal  was 
•killed  by  a  cannon-shot,  in  1592,  at  the  siege  of  Epernai. 


THE    IIENEIADE.  19^ 

His  son,'  whom  toil  nor  danger  could  restrain, 
Who  soon,  alas ! — but  he  was  faithful  then  ;  "^ 
Crillon  and  Sully ,^  by  the  guilty  fear'd. 


1  Charles  de  Gontaut  cle  Biron,  marshal  and  duke  and  peer,  was  the  son 
of  the  former.  He  conspired  against  Henry  IV,  and  was  beheaded  in  the 
court  of  the  Bastile,  in  1620. 

2  Imitation  of  Kacine,  Bntannicus,  Act  IV,  scene  2. 

'  Kosny,  afterwards  duke  de  Sully,  superintendent  of  finances,  grand 
master  of  artillery,  marshal  of  France  after  the  death  of  Henry  IV,  re- 
ceived seven  wounds  at  the  battle  of  Ivry.  He  was  born  at  Kosny  in  1559, 
and  died  at  Villebon  in  1641.  Thus  he  had  seen  Henry  II  and  Louis  XIV. 
He  was  the  only  man  to  whom  the  baton  of  marshal  of  France  was  ever 
given  as  a  mark  of  disfavor :  he  received  it  in  exchange  for  the  office  of 
grand  master  of  artillery,  which  the  queen  regent  took  away  from  him  in 
1614.  He  was  a  very  brave  soldier,  and  a  still  better  minister;  incapable 
of  deceiving  the  king,  and  of  being  deceived  by  financiers.  He  could  not 
be  moved  by  courtiers  whose  avidity  is  insatiable,  and  who  found  in  him 
a  severity  perfectly  conformed  to  the  economy  of  Henry  IV.  They  called 
him  the  Negative,  and  said  that  the  word  yes  never  went  out  of  his  mouth. 
Such  virtue  pleased  no  one  but  his  master ;  and  the  death  of  Henry  IV 
was  the  signal  for  his  disgrace.  Louis  XIII  called  him  to  court,  a  few 
years  afterwards,  to  obtain  his  advice.  He  came,  though  with  gi-eat  repug- 
nance. The  young  courtiers,  who  governed  Louis  XIII,  tried,  according 
to  custom,  to  ridicule  this  old  minister,  who  now  made  his  appearance  with 
the  dress  and  airs  of  a  time  long  past.  The  Duke  de  Sully  observing  them, 
said  to  the  king :  "  Sire,  when  the  king,  your  father,  of  glorious  memory, 
did  me  the  honor  to  consult  me,  we  never  began  our  conversation  until  the 
buffoons  and  mountebanks  of  the  court  had  all  been  sent  into  the  ante- 
chamber." 

His  memoirs  were  composed  by  himself  during  his  retirement  from  the 
court.  They  are  written  in  a  simple  but  somewhat  diffuse  style,  and  show 
the  rare  honesty  of  the  man. 

He  was  never  willing  to  change  his  religion ;  still,  he  was  the  first  to 
advise  Henry  IV  to  go  to  mass.  Cardinal  Duperron  exhorting  him,  one 
day,  to  abandon  Calvinism,  he  replied  to  him :  "  I  will  become  a  Catholic, 
when  you  shall  have  suppressed  the  gospel ;  for  it  is  so  opposed  to  the 
Eoman  Church,  that  I  cannot  believe  that  both  were  inspired  by  the  same 
spirit." 

The  pope  wrote  to  him,  on  a  certain  occasion,  praising  in  the  highest 
terms  the  wisdom  of  his  ministry  ;  and,  like  a  good  pastor,  closed  his  letter 
with  a  prayer  to  God  that  his  wandering  sheep  might  be  brought  back,  at 
the  same  time  conjuring  the  duke  to  return  to  the  true  faith.  The  duke 
replied  to  him  in  the  same  tone  ;  assuring  him  that  he  would  never  cease 
to  pray  to  God  for  the  conversion  of  his  Holiness.  This  letter  is  in  his 
memoirs. 

[Writers  create  the  reputation  of  ministers.  To  judge  them,  it  is  neces- 
9 


19i  THE   HENRIADE. 

Chiefs  whom  the  League  detested,  yet  revered ; 
Turennc,  whose  virtues  and  unrivall'd  fame, 
Won  the  fair  honors  of  the  Bouillon  name — 

sary  not  only  to  know  the  principles  of  administration,  but  also  to  have 
read  the  laws,  the  regulations  which  mini»ter8  have  made,  and  to  know 
what  has  been  the  influence  of  these  laws,  of  these  regulations,  upon  the 
entire  nation,  and  upon  different  provinces.  No  one  takes  this  trouble ; 
and  ministers  are  consequently  judged  on  the  word  of  historians  or  politi- 
cal writers. 

Sully  and  Colbert  are  striking  examples  of  this.  Under  Louis  XIV,  men 
of  letters  were  in  profound  ignorance  in  regard  to  every  thing  concerning 
the  government ;  and  men  who  were  engaged  in  business  were  scarcely 
able  to  write  two  sentences  legibly.  The  system  itself  turned  men  of 
every  rank  towards  business  pursuits.  Very  many  were  engacred  in  com- 
merce ;  and  as  Colbert  had  made  a  number  of  regulations  touching  manu- 
factures, as  he  had  encouraged  maritime  commerce,  and  formed  companies, 
he  was  held  up  by  all  writers  as  a  model  minister.  Political  science,  how- 
ever, was  making  considerable  progress ;  efforts  were  made  to  base  it  upon 
general  and  fixed  principles,  a  few  of  which  were  found.  A  great  number 
of  defects  were  observed  in  the  administration  of  Colbert;  but  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  offer  another  object  for  public  admiration,  and  Sully  was  selected. 
The  choice  was  fortunate.  Minister,  confidant,  and  friend  of  a  king  whose 
memory  is  cherished  and  respected,  he  had  preserved  the  reputation  of  a 
man  of  extraordinary  virtue,  and  strict  honesty ;  he  had  been  a  great 
economist  of  the  public  treasury;  and  for  these  reasons  was  put  up  in 
opposition  to  Colbert.  Things  were  carried  even  further :  it  Avas  supposed 
that  each  of  these  ministers  had  a  system  of  administration ;  that  these 
systems  were  opposed ;  that  one  favored  agriculture,  while  the  other  sac- 
rificed it  to  the  encouragement  of  manufactures.  But  by  reading  the  laws 
made  by  them,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  neither  of  them  ever  had  a  system ;  at 
that  period,  it  was  impossible  to  have  any.  Sully  was  superior  to  Colbert, 
because  he  opposed  courageously  the  expenses  which  Henry,  through  gen- 
erosity or  feebleness,  was  willing  to  incur ;  while  Colbert  encouraged  the 
taste  of  Louis  XIV  for  feasts  and  parades :  because  Sully  merited  the  con- 
fidence of  Henry  IV  by  sacrificing  for  him  his  possessions  and  his  blood; 
while  Colbert,  after  having  gained  the  confidence  of  Mazarin,  by  enabling 
him  to  increase  his  wealth,  obtained  that  of  Louis  XIV,  by  becoming  the 
accuser  of  Fouquet  and  the  instrument  of  his  destruction :  because  Sully, 
the  terror  of  courtiers,  was  the  friend  of  the  people ;  while  Colbert  sacri- 
ficed the  people  to  the  court. 

Sully  encouraged  commerce  in  grain  only,  by  giving  permissions  to  ex- 
port it  somewhat  more  frequently  than  was  done  during  the  time  of  Col- 
bert ;  but  he  also  caused  it  to  be  purchased,  a  thing  which  a  minister,  even 
the  most  corrupt,  would  not  dare  to  confess  in  our  day. 

Both  encouraged  manufactures  only  by  gifts  and  privileges.  Neither  of 
them  undertook  to  render  the  imposts  less  onerous.  If  they  were  less 
severe  under  Sully,  credit  is  to  be  given  not  so  much  to  his  character  as 


THE    HENKIADE.  195 

Ill-fated  power,  alas !  and  ill  maintain'd/ 

Crush'd  in  the  birth,  and  lost  as  soon  as  gain'd. 

His  crest  amid  the  band  brave  Essex  rears. 

And  as  a  palm  beneath  our  skies  appears ; 

Among  our  elms  the  lofty  stranger  shoves 

His  growth,  as  if  he  scorn'd  the  native  groves. 

From  his  bright  casque,  with  orient  gems  array'd, 

And  burnish'd  gold,  a  starry  lustre  play'd ; 

Dear,  valued  gifts !  with  which  his  mistress  strove 

Less  to  reward  his  courage,  than  his  love. 

Ambitious  chief !  the  mighty  bulwark  grown 

Of  Gallia's  prince,  and  darling  of  his  own. 

There,  too,  were  Trimouille,^  Clermont,  and  Feuquieres, 

to  circumstances,  Avhicli  would  not  have  permitted  this  abuse  of  royal 
authority. 

In  a  word,  Sully  was  a  virtuous  man  for  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  be- 
cause it  is  impossible  to  reproach  him  with  any  act  regarded  as  vile  or 
criminal  at  that  period ;  but  it  cannot  be  said  that  he  was  a  great  minister, 
and  with  still  less  propriety  can  he  be  held  up  as  a  model.  A  general  who, 
at  the  present  day,  should  conduct  a  war  after  the  manner  of  Guesclin, 
would  probably  be  beaten. 

Sully  had  faults  and  weaknesses.  The  friend  of  Henry  IV,  he  was  too 
jealous  of  his  favor.  Haughty  among  his  equals,  he  exhibited  all  the 
meanness  of  vanity  with  his  inferiors.  His  probity  was  incorruptible ;  but 
he  loved  riches,  and  neglected  none  of  the  means  then  permitted  to  be 
used  in  acquiring  them.  Compelled  to  go  into  retirement  after  the  death 
of  Henry  IV,  he  had  the  weakness  to  regret  his  place,  and  to  conduct  him- 
self, upon  some  occasions,  as  if  he  desired  to  take  part  in  the  unstable  and 
stormy  government  of  Louis  XIII,] — K. 

Nangis,  a  man  of  great  merit,  and  of  true  virtue.  He  advised  Henry  III 
not  to  assassinate  the  Duke  de  Guise,  but  to  judge  him  according  to  the 
laws, 

Crillon  was  sumamed  the  Brave.  He  offered  Henry  IV  to  fight  this 
same  Duke  de  Guise.  It  was  to  this  Crillon  that  Henry  the  Great  wrote : 
"  Go,  hang  yourself,  brave  Crillon ;  we  have  had  an  action  at  Arques,  and 
you  were  not  there,  ,  .  ,  Adieu,  brave  Crillon ;  I  love  you,  right  or  wrong," 

1  The  sovereignty  of  Sedan,  acquired  by  Henry  of  Turenne,  was  lost  by 
Frederic-Maurice,  duke  de  Bouillon,  his  son,  who  having  entered  into  the 
conspiracy  of  Cinq-Mars  against  Louis  XIII,  or  rather  against  the  Cardi- 
nal de  Eichelieu,  gave  up  Sedan  to  save  his  life.  In  exchange  he  received 
several  estates,  which  afforded  him  more  revenue,  but  less  power, 

'  Claude,  duke  de  la  Trimouille,  was  at  the  battle  of  Ivry.    He  was  a 


196  THE    IIENRIADE. 

Unhappy  Nesle,  happy  Lesdiguieres.' 
Such  was  the  monarch's  train.     With  steadfast  air 
And  firm,  they  wait  the  signal  of  the  war. 
Glad  omens  from  their  Henry's  eyes  they  took, 
And  read  their  conquest  sure  in  his  inspiring  look. 

'Twas  then,  afflicted  with  inglorious  dread, 
Unhappy  Mayne  perceived  his  courage  fled. 
Whether,  at  length,  his  boding  heart  divines 
The  wrath  of  heaven  on  his  unjust  designs  ; 
Whether  the  soul,  prophetic  of  our  doom. 
Foresees  the  dreary  train  of  ills  to  come  ; 
Whate'er  the  cause,  he  feels  a  chilling  fear. 
But  veils  it  with  a  show  of  seeming  cheer. 
Inspires  his  troops  with  ardor  of  renown. 
And  fills  their  hearts  with  hopes  that  dwell  not  in  his  own. 

But  Egmont  at  his  side,  with  glory  fired. 
And  the  rash  confidence  his  youth  inspired, 
Flush'd  for  the  fight,  and  eager  to  display 
Ilis  prowess,  chides  his  infamous  delay. 
As  when  the  Thracian  courser  from  afar 
Hears  the  shrill  trumpet  and  the  sound  of  war, 
A  martial  fire  illumes  his  vivid  eye  ; 
He  neighs,  he  snorts,  he  bears  his  head  on  high  ; 
Impatient  of  restraint,  he  scorns  the  rein. 
And  swift  as  lightning  scours  along  the  plain  ! 

man  of  great  courage,  boundless  ambition,  great  wealth,  and  was  regarded 
as  one  of  the  principal  leaders  among  the  Calvinists.  He  died  at  the  age 
of  thirty-eight  years. 

Balzac  de  Clermont  d'Entragues,  uncle  of  the  famous  Marquise  de  Ver- 
neuil,  was  slain  at  the  battle  of  Ivry.  Feuquieres  and  De  Nesle,  captains 
of  fifty  men,  were  also  slain  at  this  battle. 

1  Never  did  man  more  truly  merit  the  title  of  fortunate :  he  began  by 
being  a  simple  soldier,  and  ended  by  being  high  constable,  under  Louis 
XIII. 


THE   HENRIADE.  197 

Such  Egraont  seem'd.     With  beating  heart  he  stood. 
And  in  his  eye  the  rage  of  battle  glovv'd. 
E'en  now  he  ponders  his  approaching  fame, 
And  looks  on  conquest  as  his  rightful  claim. 
Alas !  he  dreams  not  that  his  pride  shall  gain 
Naught  but  a  grave,  in  Ivry's  fatal  plain. 


Bourbon,  at  length,  drew  near,  and  thus  inspired 
His  ardent  warriors,  whom  his  presence  fired  : 
"  Ye  sons  of  France !  your  king'  is  at  your  head — 
You  see  your  foes,  then  follow  where  I  lead  ; 
Mark  well  this  waving  plume  amid  the  fight. 
Nor  let  the  tempest  shade  it  from  your  sight ; 
To  that  alone  direct  your  constant  aim. 
Still  sure  to  find  it  in  the  road  to  fame." 
Thus  spoke  the  chief :  his  bands  exulting  hear, 
And  with  new  fury  court  the  glorious  war  ; 
Then  march'd,  and  as  he  went,  his  pious  breast 
With  silent  prayers  the  God  of  hosts  address'd. 
At  once  the  legions  rush,  with  headlong  pace, 
Behind  their  chiefs,  and  snatch  the  middle  space. 
So,  where  the  seas  with  narrow  frith  divide 
Cantabria's  coast  from  Afric's  desert  side  ; 
When  eastern  storms  along  the  channel  sweep, 
Urging,  in  angry  contest,  deep  'gainst  deep. 
Earth  trembles  at  the  shock,  the  sheeted  brine 
Invades  the  skies,  forbids  the  sun  to  shine, 
And  Moors,  aflfrighted  by  the  hideous  gloom. 


»  The  words  used  by  Henry  IV  at  the  battle  of  Ivry,  were:  "  Eally 
around  my  white  phxme ;  you  will  always  see  it  on  the  road  to  honor  and 
•■,0  glory  !" 


198  THE    HENRIADE. 

The  deadly  musket,  Icngthen'd  to  a  spear,' 
Increases,  now,  the  carnage  far  and  near — 
Strikes  a  twin  death,  and  can  at  once  afford 
The  scourge  of  flame,  and  havoc  of  tlie  sword. 
The  firm  earth  trembles  'neath  the  warriors'  feet, 
As  breast  to  breast  in  conflict  dread  they  meet ; 
Despair  and  horror  seize  them  on  the  road. 
And  shame  of  flight,  and  impious  thirst  of  blood. 
Here,  from  his  stronger  son  the  father  flies — 
There,  by  the  brother's  arm  the  brother  dies. 
Nature  is  shock'd,  and  Eure's  flooded  shore 
Shrinks  with  abhorrence  from  the  streams  of  gore. 
Bourbon  his  path  at  once  to  glory  clears. 
Through  bristly  forests  of  protended  spears  ; 
O'er  many  a  crested  helm  his  courser  rides, 
While  near  him  calm  and  faithfully  abides 
Great  Mornay,^  thoughtful  and  intent  alone 
On  Henry's  life,  regardless  of  his  own. 
So,  veil'd  in  human  shape,  the  poets  feign 
The  gods  engaged  in  arms  on  Phrygia's  plain  ; 
"  So  when  an  angel  by  divine  command. 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land — 
Well  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform. 
He  rides  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the  storm." 
The  royal  chief  in  hurried  accents  tells 
What  he  desires,  what  hope  his  soul  impels ; 
Mornay,  attentive,  hears  his  firm  command. 
And  bears  it  where  the  distant  leaders  stand. 
The  distant  leaders  to  their  troops  convey 


^  The  bayonet  at  the  end  of  the  gun  was  not  used  until  a  long  time  after. 
The  name  bayonet  comes  from  Bayonne,  the  place  where  these  weapons 
were  first  made. 

'  Duplessis-Mornayliad  two  horses  killed  under  him  in  this  battle.  He 
exhibited  all  the  coolness  for  which  he  is  here  praised. 


THK   HENRIADE.  199 

The  word  ;  their  troops  receive  it  and  obey. 

They  part,  they  join,  in  various  forms  are  seen ; 

One  soul  informs  and  guides  the  vast  machine. 

Returning  now  in  haste,  good  Mornay  seeks 

The  prince,  accosts,  and  guards  him  while  he  speaks. 

But  still  the  stoic  warrior  keeps  unstain'd 

With  human  blood  his  inoffensive  hand. 

The  king  alone  employs  his  generous  thought, 

For  his  defence  the  embattled  field  he  sought ; 

Detesting  war,  and  singularly  brave. 

Can  death  confront,  though  death  he  never  gave. 

Turenne,'  with  his  accustom'd  skill  in  war, 
The  forces  of  Nemours  had  scatter'd  far ; 
D'Ailly  had  fill'd  the  plain  with  dire  alarms. 
Proud  of  his  thirty  years  consumed  in  arms  [ 
And  spite  of  age  the  veteran  still  displays 
The  wonted  vigor  of  his  youthful  days. 
One  warrior  only  dares  in  deadly  strife 
To  match  his  might :  he,  in  the  bloom  of  life, 
Commenced  his  march  upon  this  fatal  day, 
In  glory's  difficult  and  dangerous  way. 
New  in  the  bonds  of  Hymen,  yet  he  fled 
The  chaste  endearments  of  his  bridal  bed, 
Disdain'd  the  trivial  praise  by  beauty  won, 
And  panted  for  a  soldier's  fame  alone. 
That  cruel  morn,  accusing  heaven*  in  vain. 
And  the  cursed  League,  that  call'd  him  to  the  plain, 
His  beauteous  bride  with  trembling  fingers  laced 


I  Henry  de  la  Tour,  d'Orliegues,  viscount  de  Turenne,  marshal  of 
France.  Henry  the  great  married  him  to  Charlotte  de  la  Mark,  princess  of 
Sedan,  in  1591.  On  the  night  of  his  wedding,  the  marshal  set  out  to  take 
Stenay  by  assault. 


200  THE   HENRI ADE. 

His*  heavy  corselet  on  lier  hero's  breast, 
And  cover'd  with  his  hehn  of  polished  gold 
Those  eyes,  which  still  she  languish'd  to  behold. 

To  Ailly  then,  the  youth,  despising  fear, 
Spurs  his  proud  steed,  and  lifts  his  quivering  spear ; 
Their  headlong  coursers  all  remorseless  tread 
Upon  the  maim'd,  the  dying,  and  the  dead ; 
Poachy  with  blood,  the  turf  and  matted  grass 
Sink  fetlock  deep  beneath  them  as  they  pass. 
Onward  the  warriors  come ;  their  shields  sustain 
The  shock ;  their  spears  well  pointed,  but  in  vain. 
In  scatter'd  splinters  shine  upon  the  plain. 
So  when  two  clouds,  with  thunder  fraught,  draw  near 
And  join  their  dark  encounter  in  mid-air. 
While  from  their  sides  the  lightning  quivers  round. 
Heaven  roars,  and  mortals  tremble  at  the  sound. 
Now  from  their  steeds,  with  unabated  rage. 
Alighting  swift,  a  closer  war  they  wage  ; 
Ran  Discord  to  the  scene,  and  near  her  stood 
Death's  horrid  spectre,  pale,  and  smear'd  with  blood. 
Already  shine  their  falchions  in  their  hands ; 
No  interfering  power  between  them  stands  ; 
The  doom  is  seal'd,  their  destiny  commands  : 
Full  at  each  other  s  heart  they  aim  alike. 
Nor  knows  their  fury  at  whose  heart  they  strike  ; 
Their  bucklers  clash,  thick  strokes  descend  from  high, 
And  flakes  of  fire  from  their  helmets  fly  ; 
Blood  stains  their  hands,  but  still  the  temper'd  plate 
Retards  awhile  and  disappoints  their  hate. 
Each  wondering  at  the  long  unfinish'd  fight. 
Esteems  his  rival,  and  admires  his  might ; 
'Till  d' Ailly  with  a  vigorous  eff'ort  found 
The  pass,  and  stretch'd  his  foe  npon  the  ground. 


THE    HENRIADE.  ^^Jvi^"-- 

That  foeman's  eyes  forever  closed  remain, 
And  his  loose  helmet  rolls  along  the  plain  ; 
Then  saw  the  wretched  chiet^  too  surely  known, 
The  kindred  features,  and  embraced  his  son. 
And  now,  with  horror  and  remorse  oppress'd. 
He  turns  the  guilty  steel  against  his  breast. 
That  just  revenge  his  hastening  friends  oppose  ; 
When  furious  from  the  dreadful  scene  he  rose — 
Forth  to  the  woods  his  cheerless  journey  sped, 
From  arms  forever  and  from  glory  fled, 
And  in  the  covert  of  a  shaggy  den 
Dwells  a  sad  exile  from  the  ways  of  men. 
There,  when  the  dawning  day  salutes  the  skies. 
And  when  at  eve  the  chilling  vapors  rise. 
His  unexhausted  grief  still  flows  the  same. 
His  voice  repeats  his  son's  lamented  name. 
Tender  alarms  and  boding  terrors  brought 
The  bride,  inquiring,  to  the  fatal  spot ; 
Uncertain  of  her  doom,  with  anxious  haste 
And  faltering  knees  between  the  dead  she  pass'd, 
'Till  stretch'd  upon  the  plain  her  lord  she  spied. 
Then  shriek'd,  and  sunk  expiring  at  his  side. 
The  damps  of  death  upon  her  temples  hung, 
And  feeble  sounds  scarce  parted  from  her  tongue 
Once  more  her  eyes  a  last  farewell  essay'd. 
Once  more  her  lips  upon  his  lips  she  laid, 
Within  her  arms  the  lifeless  body  press'd. 
Then  look'd,  and  sigh'd,  and  died  upon  his  breast. 


Deplored  examples  of  rebellious  strife, 
Ill-fated  victims,  father,  son,  and  wife  ! 
Oh,  may  the  sad  remembrance  of  your  woe 
Teach  tears  from  ages  yet  unborn  to  flow, 
9-- 


202  THE    HENRI ADE. 

With  wholesome  sorrow  touch  all  future  times, 
And  save  the  children  from  their  father's  crimes. 

But  say,  what  chief  disperses  thus  abroad 
The  flying  League,  what  hero,  or  what  god  ? 
'Tis  Biron,  'tis  his  youthful  arm  o'erthrows 
And  drives  along  the  plain  his  scatter'd  foes. 
D'Aumale  beheld,  and,  maddening  at  the  sight, 
"  Stand  fast,"  he  cried,  "  and  stay  your  coward  flight ; 
Friends  of  the  Guise  and  Mayne,  their  vengeance  due, 
Rome,  and  the  Church,  and  France  expect  from  you  ; 
Return,  then,  and  your  pristine  force  recall — 
Conquest  is  theirs  who  fight  beneath  d'Aumale  !" 
Fosseuse,  Joyeuse,  and  Beauvau  all  sustain 
Their  part,  and  rally  the  disorder'd  train. 
Before  the  van  d'Aumale  his  station  took. 
And  the  closed  lines  caught  courage  from  his  look. 
The  chance  of  war  now  flows  a  backward  course, 
Biron  in  vain  withstands  the  driving  force  ; 
Nesle  and  Angenne  within  his  sight  are  slain, 
And  Parabere  and  Clermont  press  the  plain — 
Himself  scarce  lived,  so  fast  the  purple  tide 
Flow'd  from  his  wounds  ;  far  happier,  had  he  died. 
A  death  so  glorious,  with  unfading  fame 
Forever  had  adorn'd  the  hero's  name. 

Soon  learn'd  the  royal  chief  to  what  distress 
The  youth  was  fallen,  courageous  to  excess ; 
He  loved  him — not  as  monarchs  condescend 
To  love,  but  well  and  plainly,  as  a  friend. 
Nor  thought  a  subject's  blood  so  mean  a  thing, 
A  smile  alone  o'erpaid  it  from  a  king. 
Hail,  heaven-born  friendship  !  the  delight  alone 
Of  noble  minds,  and  banish'd  from  the  throne. 


tup:  henkiade.  203 

Eager  he  flies ;  the  generous  fires  that  feed 
His  heart,  augment  his  vigor  and  his  speed. 
He  came,  and  Biron,'  kindling  at  the  view. 
His  gather'd  strength  to  one  last  effort  drew. 
Cheer'd  by  the  well-known  voice,  again  he  plies 
The  sword  ;  all  force  before  the  monarch  flies. 
The  king  redeems  thee  from  the  unequal  strife, 
Rash  youth  !  be  faithful,  and  deserve  thy  life. 


Hark,  a  loud  peal  comes  thundering  from  afar — 
'Tis  Discord  blows  afresh  the  flames  of  war. 
To  thwart  the  monarch's  virtue,  with  new  fires 
His  fainting  foes  the  beldam  fiend  inspires ; 
She  winds  her  fatal  trump,  the  woods  around 
And  mountains  tremble  at  the  infernal  sound. 
Swift  to  d'Aumale  the  baleful  notes  impart 
Their  power ;  he  feels  the  summons  at  his  heart. 
Bourbon  alone  he  seeks  ;  the  boisterous  throng 
Close  at  his  heels  tumultuous  pour  along. 
So  the  well-scented  pack,  long  train'd  to  blood, 
Deep  in  the  covert  of  a  spacious  wood. 
Bay  the  fierce  boar  to  battle,  and  elate. 
With  heedless  wrath  rush  headlong  on  their  fate ; 
The  shrillness  of  the  cheering  horn  provokes 
Their  rage,  and  echoes  from  the  distant  rocks. 
Thus  stood  the  monarch,  by  the  crowd  inclosed, 
A  host  against  his  single  arm  opposed  ; 
No  friend  at  hand,  no  welcome  aid  he  found — 
Abandon'd,  and  by  death  encompass'd  round. 


1  The  Duke  de  Biron  was  wounded  at  Ivry  ;  but  it  was  at  the  battle  of 
Fontaine-Franqaise  that  Henry  the  Great  saved  his  life.  This  event  not 
being  a  principal  fact,  could,  without  impropriety,  be  changed  as  to  time 
and  place. 


204  THE   HENRIADE. 

'Twas  then  St.  Louis  quick  his  strength  renew'd, 

"With  tenfold  force,  and  vigor  unsubdued, — 

Firm  as  a  rock  poised  on  its  base  he  stood, 

A  rock  that  braves  the  blast,  and  scorns  the  flood. 

Who  shall  relate,  alas !  what  heroes  died 

In  that  dread  hour  on  Euro's  purple  side ! 

Shade  of  the  first  of  kings,  do  thou  diffuse 

Thy  spirit  o'er  my  song,  be  thou  my  muse  ! 

Now  from  afar  his  gathering  nobles  came  ; 

They  died  for  Bourbon,  and  he  fought  for  them. 

When  Egmont  rush'd  with  yet  unrivall'd  force. 

To  check  the  storm,  and  thwart  the  monarch's  course. 


Long  had  the  chief,  misled  by  martial  pride, 
Sought  Henry  through  the  combat  far  and  wide. 
Nor  cared  he,  so  his  venturous  arm  might  meet 
That  strife,  for  aught  of  danger  or  defeat. 
"  Bourbon,"  he  cried,  "  advance !  behold  a  foe 
Prepared  to  plant  fresh  laurels  on  your  brow  ; 
Now  let  your  arm  its  utmost  might  display — 
Ours  be  the  strife,  let  us  decide  the  day." 
He  spoke,  and  lo !  portentous  from  on  high, 
A  stream  of  lightning  shot  along  the  sky. 
Slow  peals  of  muttering  thunder  growl'd  around  ; 
Beneath  the  trembling  soldier  shook  the  ground. 
Egmont,  alas !  a  flattering  omen  draws. 
And  dreams  that  heaven  will  combat  in  his  cause  ; 
That  partial  nature  in  his  glory  shared. 
And  by  the  thunder's  voice  his  victory  declared. 
At  the  first  onset,  with  full  force  applied. 
His  driving  falchion  reach'd  the  monarch's  side. 
Fast  flow'd  a  stream  of  trickling  blood ;  though  slight 
The  wound,  yet  Egmont  triumph'd  at  the  sight. 


THE    HENEIADE,      .  205 

But  Bourbon,'  unconcern'd,  received  the  blow, 

And  with  redoubled  ardor  press'd  his  foe — 

Pleased  when  the  field  of  glory  could  afford 

A  conquest  hardly  earn'd,  and  worthy  of  his  sword. 

The  stinging  wound  served  only  to  provoke 

His  rage,  and  add  new  vigor  to  his  stroke. 

He  springs  upon  the  blow  ;  the  champion  reels, 

And  the  keen  edge  within  his  bosom  feels ; 

O'erthrown  beneath  the  trampling  hoof  he  lies, 

And  death's  dim  shadow  skims  before  his  eyes ; 

He  sees  the  dreary  regions  of  the  dead. 

And  shrinks  and  trembles  at  his  father's  shade. 


Then  first,  their  leader  slain,  the  Iberian  host 
Declined  the  fight ;  their  vaunted  spirit  lost. 
Like  a  contagion  their  unwarlike  fear 
Seized  all  the  ranks,  and  flew  from  van  to  rear. 
General  and  soldier  felt  the  same  dismay  ; 

1  It  was  not  at  Ivry,  but  at  the  battle  of  Aumale,  that  Henry  IV  was 
wounded  :  he  had  the  generosity  afterwards  to  place  among  his  guards  the 
soldier  who  had  wounded  Mm. 

The  reader  will  perceive  that  it  is  impossible  to  speak  of  all  the  battles 
of  Henry  the  Great,  in  a  poem  where  unity  of  action  must  be  observed. 
This  prince  was  wounded  at  Avimale  ;  he  saved  the  life  of  the  Marshal  de 
Biron  at  Fontaine-Frangaise.  These  are  events  which  merit  a  place  in  the 
poem ;  bi;t  they  cannot  be  recorded  in  the  order  in  which  they  occurred. 
The  poet  must,  therefore,  be  allowed  to  use  some  discretion ;  otherwise, 
it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  make  an  epic  poem  founded  upon  history. 

Henry  IV  was  not,  then,  wounded  at  Ivry,  but  he  narrowly  escaped 
losing  his  life  :  he  was,  during  the  action,  assailed  by  three  Walloon  dra- 
goons, and  would  have  perished,  had  it  not  been  for  the  interference  of 
the  Marshal  d'Aumont  and  the  Duke  de  la  Trimouille.  His  soldiers  be- 
lieved, for  some  time,  that  he  was  dead,  and  raised  loud  cries  of  joy  when 
they  saw  him  reappear,  sword  in  hand,  and  all  covered  with  the  blood  of 
his  enemies. 

I  must  observe  that,  after  the  wounding  of  the  king  at  Aumale,  Duples- 
sis-Mornay  wrote  to  him :  "  Sire,  you  have  played  Alexander  long  enough ; 
it  is  now  time  for  you  to  act  Cassar :  it  is  our  business  to  die  for  your  majes- 
ty ;  and  your  glory,  I  must  say  that  it  is  your  duty,  to  live  for  us." 


206  THE    HKNKIADE. 

No  longer  these  command,  nor  those  obey. 
Down  fall  the  banners ;  routed  and  o'erthrown, 
And  sending  forth  unmanly  cries,  they  run ; 
Some  bend  the  suppliant  knee,  submissive  join 
Their  hands,  and  to  the  chain  their  wrists  resign ; 
Some  from  their  swift  pursuers  barely  freed, 
To  reach  the  river  use  their  utmost  speed. 
Then  madly  plunge  amid  the  foaming  tide. 
And  sinking,  find  the  death  they  would  avoid. 
The  stream,  encumber'd  in  its  onward  course, 
O'erleaps  its  banks,  retreats  towards  its  source. 

Mayne,  in  the  tumult  of  this  horrid  scene. 
Masters  himself;  though  grieved,  is  yet  serene  : 
He  views  his  cruel  loss,  and  hopes  'gainst  hope, 
That  Fate  will  yet  a  brighter  prospect  ope. 
D'Aumale,  his  eye  with  burning  rage  suffused, 
His  cruel  stars  and  dastard  bands  accused. 
"  All's  lost,"  he  cried,  "  see  where  the  cowards  fly- 
Illustrious  Mayne !  our  task,  then,  is  to  die." 
"Die!"  said  the  chief;  "live  rather  to  replace 
Our  fortune,  and  sustain  the  cause  you  grace  ; 
Live  to  regain  the  laurels  we  have  lost. 
Nor  now  desert  us,  when  we  need  you  most. 
Thou  and  Bois  Dauphin  course  the  wasted  plain. 
Glean  up  the  wreck  and  remnant  of  our  train. 
To  Paris,  now  :  within  its  sturdy  wall 
We  will  in  marching  gather  one  and  all. 
Cheer  up :  let  glorious  hope  our  comrades  share, 
And,  like  Coligni,  triumph  in  despair." 
He  hears :  reluctant  sobs  his  passion  speak. 
And  tears  of  anguish  trickle  down  his  cheek ; 
A  slow  compliance  sullenly  he  pays. 
And,  frowning  stern  at  the  command,  obeys. 


THE    HENKIADE.  207 

Thus  the  proud  lion,  whom  the  Moor  has  tamed, 
And  from  the  fierceness  of  his  race  reclaim'd. 
Bows  down  beneath  his  swarthy  master's  hand. 
And  bends  his  surly  front  at  his  command — 
With  lowering  aspect  stalks  behind  his  lord, 
And  grumbles  while  he  crouches  at  his  word. 

Meanwhile  in  flight  unhappy  Mayne  confides, 
And  close  within  the  walls  his  shame  he  hides ; 
Prone,  at  great  Henry's  feet,  the  vanquish'd  wait 
The  dreaded  words  that  shall  decide  their  fate ; 
When  from  the  firmament's  unfolded  space 
Appear'd  the  manes  of  the  Bourbon  race ; 
Then  Louis  from  the  golden  clouds  came  down. 
More  closely  to  observe  his  god-like  son, 
And  prove  if  he,  triumphant,  now  can  tame 
His  soul  to  mercy,  and  deserve  his  fame. 
The  trembling  captives,  gather'd  all  before 
The  monarch,  by  their  looks,  his  grace  implore. 
When  thus  in  clear  and  all-persuasive  tone. 
The  suppliant  crowd  is  by  the  chieftain  won  : 
"  Be  free,  and  use  your  freedom  as  you  may — 
Free  to  take  arms  against  me,  or  obey ; 
On  Mayne,  or  me,  let  your  election  rest. 
His  be  the  sceptre  who  deserves  it  best ; 
Choose  your  own  portion,  your  own  fate  decree — 
Chains  from  the  League,  or  victory  with  me." 

Astonish'd,  that  a  king  with  glory  crown'd, 
And  lord  of  the  subjected  plains  around. 
E'en  in  the  lap  of  triumph  should  forego 
His  right  of  arms,  and  'vantage  o'er  the  foe. 
His  grateful  captives  hail  him  at  his  feet 


208  THE    HENRIADP]. 

Victorious,  and  rejoice  in  their  defeat. 

No  longer  hatred  rankles  in  their  minds, 

His  might  subdued  them,  and  his  bounty  binds ; 

Proudly  they  mingle  with  the  monarch's  train, 

And  turn  their  juster  vengeance  upon  Mayne. 

Now  Bourbon,  merciful  and  mild,  had  stay'd 
The  carnage,  and  the  soldiers'  wrath  allay'd ; 
No  longer  through  the  ranks  he  cleaves  his  way, 
Fierce  as  the  lion  bearing  on  his  prey. 
But  seems  a  bounteous  deity,  inclined 
To  quell  the  tempest,  and  to  cheer  mankind. 
Peace  o'er  his  brows  had  shed  a  milder  grace. 
And  smooth'd  the  warlike  aspect  of  his  face ; 
Snatch'd  from  the  jaws  of  all-devouring  strife. 
His  captives  are  as  men  restored  to  life ; 
Their  dangers  he  averts,  their  wants  supplies. 
And  views  and  guards  them  with  a  parent's  eyes. 

Now  Fame,  the  messenger  of  false  and  true, 
Who,  as  she  flies,  grows  larger  to  the  view. 
With  wing  as  rapid  as  the  flight  of  time 
Skims  mountains,  seas,  and  fills  each  distant  clime. 
Millions  of  piercing  eyes  to  her  belong, 
As  many  mouths  let  loose  her  restless  tongue. 
And  round  with  listening  ears  her  form  is  hung. 
Where'er  she  roams.  Credulity  is  there. 
And  Doubt,  and  Hope,  and  ever-boding  Fear. 
With  equal  speed  she  bears  upon  her  wings. 
From  far,  the  glory  and  the  shame  of  kings ; 
And  now  unfolds  them,  eager  to  proclaim 
Great  Henry's  deeds,  and  trumpet  loud  his  name. 
From  Tagus  swift  to  Po  the  tidings  ran, 
And  echo'd  through  the  lofty  Vatican. 


THE    HENRIADE.  209 

Joy  to  the  nortli  the  spreading  sounds  convey, 

To  Spain,  confusion,  terror,  and  dismay. 

Ill-fated  Paris !  and  thou  faithless  League  ! 

Ye  priests,  full-fraught  with  malice  and  intrigue  ! 

How  trembled  then  your  temples,  and  what  dread. 

Disastrous,  hung  o'er  every  guilty  head  ! 

But  see !  your  great  protector  now  appears, 

See  Mayne  returning  to  dispel  your  fears ! 

Though  foil'd,  not  lost,  not  hopeless  though  o'erthrown, 

For  still  rebellious  Paris  is  his  own. 

With  specious  gloss  he  covers  his  defeat. 

Calls  ruin  victory,  and  flight  retreat ; 

Confirms  the  doubtful,  and  with  prudent  aim 

Seeks,  by  concealing,  to  repair  his  shame. 

Transient,  alas  !  the  joy  that  art  supplies ; 

For  cruel  truth  soon  scatter'd  the  disguise. 

The  veil  of  falsehood  from  their  fate  withdrew, 

And  open'd  all  its  horrors  to  their  view. 

"  Not  thus,"  cried  Discord,  doubly  now  enraged, 
"  Shall  strength  of  mine  be  uselessly  engaged ; 
'Tis  not  for  this  these  wretched  walls  have  seen 
Deep  streams  of  blood,  and  mountain-piles  of  slain. 
Forsooth,  the  raging  fires  have  not  thus  shone 
To  light  this  hateful  Bourbon  to  the  throne. 
Henceforth,  by  weakness  be  his  mind  assail'd  ; 
Weakness  may  triumph  where  the  sword  has  fail'd. 
Force  is  but  vain ;  all  other  hopes  are  gone  : 
For  Henry  yields  but  to  himself  alone. 
This  day  shall  beauty's  charms  his  bosom  warm  ; 
Subdue  his  valor,  and  unnerve  his  arm." 

Thus  Discord  spoke  ;  and,  through  the  fields  of  air, 
Drawn  by  fierce  Hatred  on  her  blood-stain'd  car. 


210  THE   HENRIADE. 

In  murky  clouds  that  hid  the  new-born  day, 
By  horrors  black  attended  on  her  way, 
Repair'd  she  swiftly  to  Cytherea's  grove, 
Assured  of  vengeance,  and  in  search  of  love. 


THE    HEISTRIADE 


CANTO  IX, 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

Description  of  the  temple  of  Love.  Discord  implores  his  power  to  ener- 
vate the  courage  of  Henry  IV.  The  hero  is  detained  some  time  by 
Madame  d'Istree,  so  well  known  under  the  name  of  the  fair  Gabrielle. 
Mornay  disengages  him  from  his  mistress,  and  the  king  returns  to 
the  army. 


CANTO  THE  NINTH. 


Fix'd  on  the  borders  of  Idalia's  coast, 

Where  sister  realms  their  kindred  limits  boast, 

An  ancient  dome'  superior  awe  commands. 

Whose  strong  foundations  rose  from  nature's  hands ; 

But  labor  since  has  polish'd  every  part, 

And  nature  yielded  to  the  toils  of  art. 

Each  circling  plain  the  verdant  myrtles  crown, 

Unknown  to  winter's  desolating  frown. 

Pomona  here  her  fruits  profusely  pours ; 

Here  Flora  sheds  her  variegated  flowers. 

Here,  while  spontaneous  harvests  fill  the  plains, 

No  season  changes,  and  no  wretch  complains. 

Here  peace  unfading  soothes  the  sons  of  earth, 

Such  peace  as  reign'd  at  Nature's  earlier  birth. 

With  hand  of  soft  indulgence  she  displays 

Celestial  quiet,  and  serenest  days. 

Here  every  lawn  in  plenty's  robe  is  dress'd. 

With  every  sweet  but  innocency  bless'd. 

From  side  to  side  the  streams  of  music  roll. 


1  This  description  of  the  temple  of  Love,  and  the  picture  of  this  passion 
personified,  are  entirely  allegorical.  The  scene  is  laid  in  Cyprus,  as  the 
abode  of  Politics  is  made  at  Eome,  because  the  people  of  this  island  have 
always  been  represented  as  devout  worshippers  of  Love,  just  as  Kome  has 
ever  been  looked  upon  as  the  most  politic  court  of  Europe. 

Love  must  not  be  regarded  as  the  son  of  Venus,  and  as  a  fabulous  deity, 
but  as  a  passion  represented  with  all  the  pleasures  and  all  the  disorders 
which  accompany  it. 


214  THE   HENRI ADE. 

Whose  soothing  softness  fascinates  the  soul. 
In  plaintive  sonnets  burns  the  lover's  flame, 
Who  boasts  his  weakness,  and  exults  in  shame. 
Each  day,  encircled  with  the  fragrant  store, 
The  little  godhead's  smiles  their  prayers  implore ; 
Eager  they  press  to  learn  the  poisonous  art 
At  once  to  pleasure,  and  entrance  the  heart. 
Delusive  Hope,  whose  charms  serenely  shine. 
Conducts  the  train  to  love's  enchanting  shrine ; 
Tlie  beauteous  Graces,  half  unveil'd,  advance. 
Indulge  the  song,  and  join  the  decent  dance. 
Voluptuous  Pleasure  on  the  velvet  plain. 
In  calm  tranquillity  attends  the  strain. 
Lo !  by  her  side  the  heart-enchanting  Sighs, 
Fix'd  Silence  strongly  speaking  to  the  eyes ; 
The  amorous  Transports,  and  the  soft  Desires, 
Which  fan  the  bosom  to  the  fiercest  fires. 

Thus  smiles  the  alluring  entrance  of  the  dome  ; 
When  far  Avithin  the  daring  footsteps  roam, 
What  scenes  of  horror  round  the  altar  roll. 
And  shake  the  libertine's  presuming  soul ! 
No  sounds  harmonious  feast  the  ravish'd  ears, 
No  more  the  lovely  train  of  Joys  appears. 
Conscious  Imprudence,  Murmurs,  Fears,  and  Hate 
With  darkness  blast  the  splendors  of  the  State. 
Stern  Jealousy,  whose  faltering  step  obeys 
Each  fell  suspicion  that  her  bliss  betrays ; 
Ungovern'd  Rage,  with  sharpest  venom  stored. 
Rears  in  the  van  his  unrelenting  sword. 
These  Malice  joins,  who,  with  perfidious  face, 
Smiles  at  the  triumphs  of  the  savage  race. 
Pensive  Repentance,  shuddering  in  the  rear. 
Heaves  the  deep  groan,  and  showers  the  plenteous  tear. 


THE    HENKIADE.  215 

Full  in  the  centre  of  this  horrid  court, 
Where  Pleasure's  fell  companions  all  resort, 
Love  waves  forever  his  fantastic  rod, 
At  once  a  cruel,  and  a  tender  god. 
His  infant  power  the  fates  of  mortals  bears, 
With  wanton  smiles  dispensing  peace,  and  wars. 
Smooth  flows  Deceit's  insinuating  art, 
Which  lifts  the  captive's  animated  heart. 
He  counts  his  triumphs  from  the  splendid  throne, 
While  prostrate  sons  of  pride  the  conqueror  own. 
Careless  of  good,  he  plies  his  savage  skill. 
And  dwells  applauding  on  each  deed  of  ill. 

Now  Discord  opens  through  the  ranks  of  joy. 
Her  vengeful  passage  to  the  kindred  boy. 
Fierce  in  her  hand  the  brandish'd  torches  glow. 
Her  eye-balls  flash,  and  blood  distains  her  brow. 
"  Where,  then,"  she  cries,  "  thy  formidable  darts ! 
Recline  they,  pointed  for  more  stubborn  hearts  ? 
If  e'er  my  venom,  mingled  with  thy  fire. 
Has  fann'd  the  flame,  and  raised  the  passion  higher  ; 
If  oft  for  thee  I  trouble  nature's  laws, 
Eise,  fly  to  vengeance  of  my  injured  cause. 
Crush'd  by  a  victor  king  my  snakes  are  laid. 
Who  joins  the  olive  to  the  laurel's  shade. 
Amid  the  tumults  of  a  civil  war. 
Meek-stepping  Clemency  attends  his  car ; 
Fix'd  to  the  standards,  waving  in  the  wind. 
She  soothes  in  Discord's  spite  the  rebel  mind. 
One  victory  gain'd,  my  throne,  my  empire  falls , 
Lo !  Henry  showers  his  rage  on  Paris'  walls. 
He  flies  to  fight,  to  conquer,  and  forgive  ; 
Fast  bound  in  brazen  chains  must  Discord  live. 
'Tis  thine  to  check  the  torrent  of  his  course, 


216  THE   HENRIADE. 

And  drop  soft  poison  on  his  valor's  source. 

Yes,  bend  the  victim  to  thy  conquering  dart, 

And  quell  each  virtue  of  his  stubborn  heart. 

Of  old  (and  well  thou  knowest),  thy  sovereign  care 

Bow'd  great  Alcides  to  the  imperial  fair. 

By  thee,  proud  Anthony's  enervate  mind 

For  Cleopatra's  form  each  thought  resign'd ; 

In  flight  inglorious  o'er  the  ocean  hurl'd, 

For  her  he  quits  the  empire  of  the  world. 

Henry  alone  resists  thy  dread  command ; 

Go,  blast  the  laurels  in  his  daring  hand. 

His  brows  entwine  with  myrtle's  amorous  charms, 

And  sink  the  slumbering  warrior  in  thy  arms. 

Fly  to  support ;  he  shakes  my  tottering  throne  : 

Go,  shield  an  empire,  and  a  cause,  thine  own." 

The  monster  spoke ;  the  ti'embling  roof  around 
Returns  the  horrors  of  the  dreadful  sound. 
Stretch'd  on  his  flowery  coul!h,  the  listening  god 
With  artful  smiles  consented  at  her  nod ; 
Arm'd  with  his  golden  deaths,  resolved,  he  flies 
Along  the  bright  dominion  of  the  skies. 
With  Pleasures,  Sports,  and  Graces  in  his  train, 
The  Zephyrs  bear  him  to  the  Gallic  plain. 

Straight  he  discovers,  with  malicious  joy, 
The  feeble  Simois,  and  the  fields  of  Troy  ; 
And  laughs,  reflecting,  in  those  seats  renown'd. 
O'er  many  a  palace  mouldering  on  the  ground. 
Venice  from  far,  fair  city  !  strikes  his  sight. 
The  prodigy  of  earth,  and  art's  delight ; 
Which  towers  supreme,  as  ocean's  godhead  gave 
Her  powerful  empire  o'er  the  encircling  wave. 
Sicilia's  plain  his  rapid  flight  retards, 


217 


THE   HENKIADE. 

Where  his  own  genius  nursed  the  pastoral  bards ; 
Where,  Fame  reports,  through  secret  paths  he  led. 
The  wandering  waves  from  amorous  Alpheus'  bed. 
Now  quitting  Arethusa's  lovely  shore, 
Swift  to  Vauclusia's'  seats  his  course  he  bore  : 
Asylum  soft ;  in  life's  serener  days, 
Where  lovesick  Petrarch  sigh'd  his  pensive  lays. 
From  thence  his  eyes  survey  the  favorite  strand 
Where  Anet's  walls  uprose  at  his  command  : 
Where  Art's  rich  toils  superior  reverence  claim. 
And  still  beams  forth  Diana's^  cipher'd  name. 
There  on  her  tomb  the  Joys  and  Graces  shower, 
In  grateful  memory,  each  fragrant  flower. 

Now  to  the  wanderer  Ivry's  fatal  plain  appears  : 
The  monarch,  ready  for  severer  cares. 
There  first  with  softer  pleasures  soothes  his  breast. 
And  lulls  his  thunders  to  a  transient  rest. 
Around  his  side  the  warrior  youth  display'd. 
Pursue  the  labors  of  the  sylvan  shade. 
The  godhead  triumphs  in  his  future  pain, 
Sharpens  his  arrows,  and  prepares  his  chain ; 
The  winds,  which  erst  he  smooth'd,  his  nod  alarms, 
He  speaks,  and  sets  the  elements  in  arms. 
From  every  side  he  calls  the  furious  storms  ; 
A  weight  of  clouds  the  face  of  heaven  deforms. 
The  impetuous  torrent  rushes  from  the  sky  ; 
The  thunder  rolls,  the  livid  lightnings  fly  ; 


*  Vauclusia,  Vallis  Clausa,  near  Gordes  in  Provence,  celebrated  for  the 
sojourn  made  by  Petrarch  in  its  vicinity.  A  house  is  even  now  pointed 
out  here  as  the  dwelling  of  Petrarch. 

3  Anet  was  built  by  Henry  II  for  Diana  de  Poitiers,  whose  ciphers  are 
mingled  with  all  the  ornaments  of  this  castle,  which  is  not  very  far  from 
the  plain  of  Ivry. 

10 


218  THE   HENRIADE. 

Each  boisterous  brother  at  his  mandate  springs, 
And  earth  lies  shadow'd  with  their  murky  wings. 
Bright  Phoebus  sinks  with  nighf  s  incumbent  load, 
And  conscious  nature  shudders  at  the  god. 

O'er  the  dark  plains,  through  miry,  dubious  ways, 
Alone  and  comfortless,  the  monarch  strays : 
When  watchful  Love  displays  the  torch's  light. 
Whose  twinkling  radiance  strikes  upon  his  sight ; 
The  hostile  star,  with  fatal  joy  betrayed. 
He  swiftly  follows  through  the  dreary  shade. 
Such  fatal  joy  deluded  wanderers  show. 
Led  by  the  vapor's  transitory  glow ; 
The  guide,  malignant,  through  the  midnight  gloom 
Quits  not  the  wretch,  but  leads  him  to  his  doom. 
Now  in  the  horrors  of  this  lone  retreat, 
Roam'd  a  fair  virgin's  solitary  feet. 
Silent,  the  centre  of  the  fort  within. 
She  waits  her  father  from  the  battle's  din  ; 
Loyal  in  council,  veteran  in  the  plain. 
Who  shone  the  foremost  of  his  sovereign's  train  : 
D'Estree'  her  name,  and  nature's  guardian  care 
Had  shower'd  her  treasures  to  adorn  the  fair 
Beauty  less  fair  the  Grecian  maid  possess'd, 
Whose  guilt  betray'd  her  Menelaus'  rest. 
With  charms  inferior  Cleopatra  glow'd. 


1  Gabrielle  d'Estrees,  of  an  ancient  family  in  Picardy,  daughter  and 
grand-daughter  of  a  grand-master  of  ordnance  ;  espoused  to  the  Seigneur 
de  Liancourt,  and  afterwards  Duchess  of  Beaufort.  Henry  IV  became  vio- 
lently in  love  with  her  during  the  civil  wars.  He  often  stole  away  to  see 
her.  One  day  he  even  disguised  himself  as  a  peasant,  passed  through  the 
midst  of  the  enemy's  guards,  and  arrived  at  her  house,  not  without  some 
danger  of  being  taken. 

These  details  may  be  read  in  the  History  of  the  Loves  of  the  Great  Alcan- 
dre,  written  by  a  princess  of  Conti. 


THE   HENRIADE.  219 

Whose  eyes  the  lord '  of  Italy  subdued, 

While  to  the  shore  the  enamor'd  Cydnians  move, 

And  incense  shed,  as  to  the  queen  of  love. 

The  nymph  was  now  at  that  unsteady  age, 
When  headstrong  passions  all  the  mind  engage. 
No  lovers  yet  their  sighing  vows  impart, 
Though  form'd  for  love,  yet  generous  was  her  heart. 
Thus  the  fair  beauties  of  the  blushing  rose, 
Coy,  in  the  spring,  to  wanton  zephyr  close  ; 
But  the  full  lustre  of  their  stores  display 
To  the  kind  influence  of  a  summer's  day. 

Cupid,  preparing  to  ensnare  the  maid. 
Appears,  but  not  in  wonted  garb  array'd. 
No  dart,  no  torch,  his  little  hands  employ. 
In  voice  and  figure  an  unmeaning  boy. 
"  From  yonder  stream  to  this  enchanting  dome. 
The  hapless  Mayne's  tremendous  conqueror's  come." 
Full  through  her  soul  the  soft  infection  ran ; 
She  pants  to  captivate  the  godlike  man. 
A  livelier  bloom  her  graceful  features  prove. 
Which  crowns  the  triumphs  of  applauding  love. 
What  could  he  doubt  ?  with  charms  celestial  spread, 
The  attractive  virgin  to  the  king  he  led. 
With  double  glow  each  ornament  of  art. 


1  Cleopatra,  going  to  Tarsus,  where  Antony  had  sent  for  her,  performed 
the  voyage  in  a  vessel  glittering  with  gold,  and  ornamented  with  the  most 
beautiful  paintings  ;  the  sails  were  of  purple,  the  cordage  of  gold  and  silk. 
Cleopatra  was  dressed  in  the  costume  in  Avhicli  the  goddess  Venus  was 
then  represented  ;  her  women  acted  the  part  of  nymphs  and  graces  ;  the 
poop  and  prow  were  filled  with  children  disguised  as  Cupids.  They  ad- 
vanced in  this  manner  upon  the  river  Cydnvis,  at  the  sound  of  a  thousand 
musical  instruments.  All  the  people  of  Tarsus  took  her  for  a  goddess. 
Every  one  left  the  tribunal  of  Antony  to  go. to  meet  her.  Antony  himselt 
went  out  to  receive  her,  and  became  madly  enamored  of  her. — Plutarch. 


220  THK   HENRIADE. 

In  nature's  guise,  enslaves  the  enamorVi  heart. 

Her  golden  tresses  floating  in  the  air, 

Now  kiss  the  rising  bosom  of  the  fair ; 

Now  start  to  view  the  heavenly  sweets  display'd, 

By  native  innocence  more  lovely  made. 

No  stern,  no  gloomy  lower,  which  puts  to  flight 

Each  thought  of  love,  of  beauty,  and  delight ; 

But  the  mild  softness  of  a  decent  shame. 

The  cheek  just  tipping  with  the  purest  flame ; 

Commanding  reverence,  which  excites  desires. 

And  sheds,  when  conquer'd,  love's  increasing  fires. 

Now  the  arch-god,  with  each  enchanting  grace, 
Difi'used  resistless  beauties  o'er  the  place. 
The  plenteous  myrtle,  with  spontaneous  birth, 
Springs  from  the  bosom  of  the  liberal  earth. 
Its  amorous  foliage  decorates  the  glade. 
And  woos  the  thoughtless  to  its  fatal  shade. 
Till  bands  unseen  the  entangled  step  betray ; 
Fear  bids  depart,  but  pleasure  wins  their  stay. 

Soft  through  the  shade  a  soothing  Lethe  rolls, 
Where  happy  lovers  with  inebriate  souls 
Quaff  long  oblivion  to  departed  fame ; 
So  unresisted  love's  all-conquering  flame  ! 
How  changed  the  scene  !  here  every  bosom  glows ; 
Pour'd  from  each  sweet  the  entrancing  venom  flows. 
Love  sounds  throughout ;  around,  the  feather'd  choir 
Indulge  the  song,  and  burn  with  mutual  fire. 
The  hind  arising  ere  the  dawn  of  day, 
To  Ceres'  golden  treasures  bends  his  way ; 
Now  stops,  aghast,  now  heaves  the  plaintive  sighs, 
And  feels  the  new-b.orn  passion  with  surprise. 
No  more  his  soul  the  toils  of  harvest  move  ; 


THE   HENRIADE.  221 

He  dwells  delighted  on  the  scenes  of  love  : 

While  heedless  of  her  flock  the  maiden  stands, 

And  drops  the  spindle  from  her  faltering  hands. 

Could  fair  d'Estree  resist  the  magic  charm  ? 

What  power  can  guard  'gainst  love's  prevailing  arm ! 

Superior  foes  her  virgin  bosom  load  : 

At  once  her  youth,  a  hero,  and  a  god. 

Meanwhile  the  king,  with  dauntless  soul,  prepares 

In  thought  to  mingle  with  the  battle's  cares. 

Some  subtle  demon  plies  his  secret  art. 

And  free-born  virtue,  sighing,  quits  the  heart. 

To  softer  scenes  his  amorous  soul  betray'd. 

Sees,  hears,  and  loves  alone  the  heavenly  maid. 

But  now  the  chieftains  of  the  embattled  band 

With  ardent  vows  their  absent  king  demand  ; 

They  shudder'd  for  his  life,  but  little  knew 

Their  fears  w^ere  only  to  his  glory  due  : 

Immersed  in  grief,  the  soldier's  conquering  pride 

Sinks  to  despair,  no  Henry  for  their  guide. 

Thy  guardian  power,  O  France,  no  longer  stays 

To  grant  continuance  of  the  soft  delays  : 

At  Louis'  nod,  descending  from  the  skies. 

Swift  to  the  succor  of  his  son  he  flies. 

Alighting  now  o'er  earth's  extended  round. 

He  seeks  a  mind  for  wisdom's  stores  renown'd — 

Not  where  pale,  hungry,  speechless  students  claim, 

Fix'd  in  a  midnight  gloom,  her  sacred  name. 

But  in  fair  Ivry,  midst  the  din  of  arms. 

Where  the  flush'd  warriors  glow  with  conquest's  charms. 

At  length  the  genius  stays  his  ardent  flight, 

Where  Calvin's  floating  banners  spread  to  sight. 

There  Mornay  he  address'd  ;  when  reason  leads, 

Her  solid  influence  consecrates  our  deeds. 

As  o'er  the  heathen  world  she  pour'd  her  ray, 


222  THE   HENRIADK. 

Whose  virtues  Christians  blushing  might  survey, 
Reason  Aurelius'  sentiments  refined, 
And  shower'd  ideas  over  Plato's  mind. 

Severe  but  friendly  Mornay  knew  the  art. 
At  once  to  mend  and  captivate  the  heart. 
His  deeds  more  reverence  than  his  doctrines  move, 
Each  virtue  met  his  fond,  parental  love. 
Full  steel'd  to  pleasure,  covetous  of  toils. 
He  look'd  on  dangers  with  undaunted  smiles. 
No  poisonous  frauds  of  palaces  control 
His  nobly-stubborn  purity  of  soul. 
Thus  Arethusa's  genial  waters  flow 
Soft  to  the  bosom  of  the  deep  below — 
A  crystal  pure,  unconscious  of  a  stain, 
Spite  of  the  billows  of  the  foaming  main. 

The  generous  Mornay,  by  the  goddess  led. 
Hastes  to  the  seat,  where  rapturous  pleasure  shed 
Her  soothing  opiate  on  the  victor's  breast. 
And  lull'd  awhile  the  fates  of  France  to  rest. 
Triumphant  love  each  lavish  charm  employs. 
To  blast  his  glory  with  redoubled  joys. 
A  waste  of  transports  fills  the  round  of  day. 
Transports  which  fly  too  swiftly  to  decay. 
To  vengeance  fired,  the  little  god  descried 
Mornay,  with  heaven-born  wisdom  for  his  guide. 
Full  at  the  warrior-chief  he  points  his  dart. 
To  lull  his  senses,  and  enthral  his  heart. 
Thick  fall  the  blunted  shafts ;  Mornay  awaits 
The  king's  return,  and  eyes  the  accursed  retreats. 

Fast  by  the  stream,  mid  nature's  rich  perfume, 
Sacred  to  silent  ease,  where  myrtles  bloom, 
B'Estree  on  Henry  lavish'd  all  her  charms, 


THE    IIENEIADE.  223 

Melting  he  glow'd,  and  languisli'd  in  lier  arms. 
No  cooling  change  their  blissful  moments  know, 
Soft  from  their  eyes  the  tears  of  rapture  flow ; 
Tears,  which  redouble  every  fond  delight, 
And  heavenly  feelings  of  the  soul  excite ; 
Flush'd  with  the  full-blown  rage  of  keen  desires, 
Which  love  alone  can  paint,  for  love  alone  inspires. 

The  wanton  Loves  unfold  the  hero's  vest. 
While  smiling  Pleasures  fan  his  soul  to  rest. 
One  holds  the  cuirass  reeking  from  the  plain, 
One  grasps  the  sw^ord,  yet  never  worn  in  vain ; 
And  laughs,  while  poising  in  his  hand  he  shows 
The  bulwark  of  the  throne,  and  terror  of  its  foes. 

From  Discord's  voice  the  strains  of  insult  roll, 
Each  cruel  transport  brooding  in  her  soul, 
With  active  fury  at  the  favoring  hour 
To  rouse  the  serpent  of  confederate  power. 
While  Henry  riots  in  the  soft  repose. 
She  wakes  to  vengeance  his  relentless  foes. 
Now  in  the  fragrant  gardens  of  delight 
Mornay  appears  :  he  blushes  at  the  sight ; 
Their  startled  bosoms  mutual  fears  engage. 
And  a  dead  silence  chains  the  approaching  sage. 
But  looks,  in  silence  bow'd  to  earth,  impart 
A  powerful  language  to  the  sovereign's  heart ; 
And  sadness,  lowering  in  the  clouded  face. 
Proclaims  at  once  his  weakness  and  disgrace. 
Ill  had  another  taken  Mornay's  care. 
Love  from  the  guilty,  few  accusers  share. 
"  Fear  not,"  he  cries,  "  our  anger ;  rest  at  ease ; 
Who  points  my  error  cannot  fail  to  please : 
Worthy  of  thee  our  bosom  shall  remain ; 


224  ,.       THE   HENRI ADE. 

'■  *"*':,."•...  .r^'-  • 

Tis  well :  and  llenry  is  himself  again. 

Love  now  resigns  that  virtue  he  hetray'd  : 

Fly,  let  us  quit  this  soft,  inglorious  shade. 

Yes,  quit  the  scenes,  where  my  rebellious  flame 

Would  fondling  still  the  silken  fetters  frame. 

Self-conquest  surely  boasts  the  noblest  charms. 

We'll  brave  the  power  of  love  in  glory's  arms ; 

Scatter  destruction  o'er  the  extended  shore. 

And  sheathe  our  error  in  the  Spaniard's  gore." 

These  generous  words  the  sage's  soul  inspire  : 

"  Yes,  now  my  sovereign  beams  with  native  fire. 

Each  rebel  passion  feels  thy  conquering  reins, 

O  great  protector  of  thy  country's  plains ! 

Love  adds  fresh  lustre  to  the  blaze  of  fame. 

For  triumphs  there  superior  greatness  claim." 

He  said  ;  the  monarch  hastens  to  depart. 

But,  oh  !  what  sorrows  load  his  amorous  heart ! 

Still,  as  he  flies,  he  cannot  but  adore  ; 

His  tears  he  censures,  yet  he  weeps  the  more. 

Forced  by  the  sage,  attracted  by  the  fair, 

He  flies,  returns,  and  quits  her  in  despair. 

D'Estree,  unable  to  sustain  the  strife, 

Falls  prostrate,  'reft  of  color,  as  of  life. 

A  sudden  night  invades  her  beauteous  eyes ; 

Love,  who  perceived  it,  sent  forth  dreadful  cries. 

Pierced  to  the  soul,  lest  death's  eternal  shade 

Should  rob  his  empire  of  the  lovely  maid ; 

Should  spoil  the  lustre  of  so  fair  a  frame. 

Destined  through  France  to  spread  the  genial  flame. 

Wrapt  in  his  arms,  again  her  eyelids  move. 

And  gently  open  to  the  voice  of  love. 

The  king  she  names,  the  king  demands  in  vain. 

Now  looks,  now  closes  her  bright  eyes  again. 

Love,  bathed  in  sorrow  for  the  suff'ering  fair. 


THE    HENRIADK. 


&IPOK^ 


Recall'd  her  sinking  spirit  by  his  prayer ; 
With  flattering  hopes  her  solaced  soul  betray'd, 
And  soothed  those  evils,  which  himself  had  made. 

Mornay,  of  steady  and  relentless  mind, 
Led  on  the  monarch  still  but  half  resign'd. 
Firm  force  and  godlike  virtue  point  the  way, 
While  glory's  hands  the  laurel  wreath  display ; 
And  love,  indignant  at  the  victor's  fame. 
Flies  far  from  Anet  to  conceal  his  shame. 
10^ 


THE    HEN^RIADE. 


CANTO  X, 


THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  king  retums  to  the  army,  Eenews  the  siege.  The  duel  betwixt 
Turenne  and  D'Aumale.  A  famine  in  the  city.  The  king  relieves  the 
inhabitants.  Heaven  at  length  recompenses  his  virtues.  Truth  de- 
scends to  enlighten  him.    Paris  opens  her  gates,  and  the  war  is  finished. 


CANTO  THE  TENTH. 


Those  fatal  moments  lost  in  soft  repose 
Had  waked  the  courage  of  the  vanquish'd  foes. 
Rebellion  breathed  again,  and  faction's  schemes 
Flush'd  the  deluded  throng  with  golden  dreams. 
Yet  vain  their  hopes,  for,  smit  with  generous  fame 
And  active  zeal,  the  martial  Bourbon  came, 
Eager  to  reap  the  harvest  he  had  sown. 
And  make  the  field  of  conquest  all  his  own. 
Again  his  banners  waved  aloft  in  air. 
And  Paris  saw  them  with  renew'd  despair. 
Again  the  chief  before  her  walls  appears, 
Scarce  yet  recover'd  from  a  siege's  fears ; 
Those  very  walls,  where  yet  sulphureous  smoke 
With  desolation  marks  the  cannon's  stroke. 
Which  now  with  ruins  had  bestrew'd  the  land, 
Had  not  compassion  check'd  the  hero's  hand  ;  . 
When  the  bright  angel,  who  obedient  still. 
Guardian  of  France,  performs  the  Almighty's  will, 
Bade  his  soft  breast  with  tender  mercies  glow. 
Withheld  his  arm,  and  stopped  the  falling  blow. 
Through  the  king's  camp  no  voice  was  heard  around 
But  songs  of  mirth,  and  joy's  tumultuous  sound. 
While  each  brave  warrior,  anxious  for  the  fray, 
With  eyes  impatient  marks  the  destined  prey. 
Meantime  the  haughty  legions  all  dismay'd, 
Press'd  round  their  prudent  chief,  and  sued  for  aid ; 


230        •  THE   HKNRIADK. 

When  thus  Aumale,  of  brave,  impetuous  soul, 
Abhorring  counsel,  and  above  control : 
"  We  have  not  yet  so  learn'd  our  warfare  here 
To  sneak  to  hiding-holes,  and  crouch  for  fear ; 
Cursed  be  the  man  whose  counsel  thither  tends ! 
The  foe  comes  forward — let  us  meet  them,  friends ; 
Not  tamely  wait  till  other  'vantage  calls. 
And  rust  in  sloth  beneath  these  coward  walls. 
On,  then,  and  conquer — fortune  oft  will  spare 
A  smile  to  crown  the  efforts  of  despair. 
Frenchmen  attack'd,  already  are  o'erthrown — 
Seek  then  your  safety  from  yourselves  alone. 
Ye  chiefs,  who  hear  me,  haste  where  glory  calls — 
Know,  soldiers,  know,  your  leaders  are  your  walls." 

He  spoke — amazed  the  Leaguers  heard  each  sound, 
And  turn'd  their  eyes  in  silence  to  the  ground. 
He  blush'd  with  shame,  and  in  each  leader's  face 
Read  their  refusal,  and  his  own  disgrace. 
"  Ye  will  not  follow,  then,  ye  heroes  tame,  , 

Nor  wish  I  basely  to  survive  the  shame ; 
Well — shrink  at  dangers  still — so  shall  not  I — 
Alone  I  go — to  conquer  or  to  die." 

He  said ;  and  from  the  city  gate  in  martial  pride 
Boldly  advanced  with  firm,  impetuous  stride. 
Before  his  steps  the  shrill-tongued  herald  went, 
To  hurl  defiance  at  each  warrior's  tent. 
E'en  to  the  king's  abode  the  marshal  came. 
And  challenged  combat  in  the  hero's  name. 
"  Ye  daring  sons  of  glory,"  loud  he  cried, 
"  Now  be  your  valor  with  your  fortune  tried  : 
Aumale  in  single  combat  waits  you  here, 
By  me  he  calls  to  arms ; — stand  forth,  appear." 


THE    HENRI ADE.  231 

The  valiant  chiefs  the  desperate  challenge  heard, 
Their  zeal  rekindling  at  each  haughty  word ; 
Each  warrior  stern,  impatient  for  the  fray. 
Hoped  the  king's  voice,  and  hail'd  the  glorious  day. 
Courage  in  all  had  form'd  an  equal  right ; 
Turenne  alone  found  favor  in  his  sight. 

"  Go,"  said  the  prince,  "  chastise  the  daring  foe, 
France  to  thy  hands  shall  all  her  glory  owe ; 
Remember,  soldier,  'tis  a  glorious  cause. 
Thy  own,  thy  king's,  thy  country  and  thy  lav»'s : 
I'll  arm  thee  for  the  fight,"  the  monarch  said, 
And  from  his  girdle  loosed  the  shining  blade. 
When  thus  Turenne — "  By  this  good  sword  I  swear, 
By  thee,  my  king,  each  subject's  darling  care, 
Thus  nobly  honor'd  in  my  prince's  voice, 
My  ready  zeal  shall  never  shame  thy  choice." 

He  spoke.     While  manly  valor  flush'd  his  face, 
He  sprang  to  meet  the  monarch's  warm  embrace ; 
Then  to  the  field,  impetuous  as  a  flood, 
Rush'd  where  Aumale  the  haughty  champion  stood. 

To  Paris'  walls  ran  all  the  Leaguer-bands, 
While  round  their  king  his  faithful  army  stands. 
With  steadfast  eye,  which  anxious  care  reveal'd, 
Each  side  beheld  its  champion  take  the  field. 
While  voice  and  gesture  on  each  part  unite 
To  warm  its  hero  for  the  dreadful  fight. 

Meantime,  o'er  Paris,  gather'd  fast  a  cloud. 
Pregnant  with  torrents  whelming,  thundering  loud, 
While  from  its  fearful  womb,  with  purpose  fell, 
Burst  forth  in  flames  the  monstrous  brood  of  hell. 


232  THE    IIENRIADE. 

There  was  hot  Zeal,  which,  frantic,  leaps  all  bounds, 
And  Discord  smiling  on  her  thousand  wounds ; 
ty     There  artful  Policy,  designing,  sly, 

With  heart  of  falsehood  and  with  scowling  eye ; 
There  the  mad  demon,  too,  of  battles  stood ; 
All  Leaguer-gods,  and  drunk  with  human  blood. 
Descending  now,  they  land  on  Paris'  wall. 
To  lend  their  aid  in  favor  of  Aumale. 

When  lo  !  an  angel  from  the  azure  sky, 
The  faithful  servant  of  the  God  on  high. 
Descended — round  his  head  in  splendor  play 
Beams,  that  eclipse  the  lustre  of  the  day. 
On  wings  of  fire  he  shaped  his  cheerful  flight. 
And  mark'd  his  passage  with  a  train  of  light. 
A  fruitful  olive-branch  one  hand  sustain'd, 
Presage  of  happy  days  and  peace  regain'd. 
His  other  hand  upheld  a  flaming  sword, 
And  shook  the  terrors  of  the  eternal  Lord ; 
That  sword,  with  which  the  avenging  angel  arm'd, 
Smote  the  first-born.     Confounded  and  disarm'd, 
Aghast,  at  once,  shrunk  all  the  fiends  of  hell, 
While  to  the  ground  their  pointless  weapons  fell. 
And  resolution  sicken'd,  all  overthrown 
By  some  resistless  force  from  hands  unknown. 
So  Dagon,  worshipp'd  on  Philistia's  shore. 
Whose  purple  altars  ran  with  human  gore, 
Before  the  ark  in  hopeless  ruin  nods. 
And  falling,  owns  the  Almighty  God  of  gods. 

Paris,  the  king,  the  army,  heaven  and  hell 
The  combat  witness ; — at  the  trumpet's  swell 
On  to  the  field  the  ready  warriors  came. 
Conscious  of  valor,  thirsting,  too,  for  fame. 


THE   HENEIADE. 

Their  hands,  unused  the  cumbrous  weight  to  wield, 

Disdain'd  to  fight  beneath  the  glittering  shield — 

The  specious  armor  of  inglorious  knight, 

Proof  'gainst  all  blows,  and  dazzling  to  the  sight ; 

They  scorn'd  the  equipment  of  such  coward  dress. 

Which,  lengthening  combat,  made  all  danger  less. 

In  courage  firm  advanced  each  haughty  lord, 

Man  against  man,  and  sword  opposed  to  sword. 

"  O  God  of  kings,"  the  royal  champion  cried, 

"  Judge  thou  my  cause,  and  battle  on  my  side ; 

Courage  I  vaunt  not  of,  an  idle  name. 

When  heavenly  justice  bars  the  warrior's  claim ; 

Not  from  myself  I  dare  the  glorious  fight. 

My  God  shall  arm  me,  who  approves  my  right." 

To  whom  Aumale  :  "  In  deeds  of  valor  known, 
Be  my  reliance  on  this  arm  alone. 
Our  fate  depends  on  us,  the  mind  afraid 
Prays  to  its  God  in  vain  for  needful  aid. 
Calm  in  the  heavens  he  views  our  equal  fight, 
And  smiling  conquest  proves  the  hero's  right. 
Valor's  the  god  of  war,"  he  sternly  cried, 
And  with  an  aspect  of  contemptuous  pride 
Gazed  on  his  rival,  whose  superior  mind 
Spoke  in  his  face,  courageous  and  resign'd. 

Now  sounds  the  trumpet ;  to  the  dubious  fray 
Rush  the  brave  chiefs,  impatient  of  delay. 
Whate'er  of  skill,  whate'er  of  strength  is  known, 
By  turns,  each  daring  champion  proves  his  own. 
AVhile  all  the  troops  watch  anxiously  the  sight. 
Half  pleased,  half  frighted  by  the  desperate  fight. 
Swiftly  each  foeman  now  his  falchion  plays. 
And  from  each  blade  the  trembling  lightnings  blazc- 


233 


23-1:  THE    HKNRIADK. 

As  when  the  sunlight  o'er  some  rippling  stream 
Dissolves,  and  flits  in  ether,  beam  by  beam. 
With  nervous  strength  and  fury  uncontrol'd. 
Full  of  himself,  and  as  a  lion  bold. 
Seems  stern  Aumale ;  the  while  his  rival  brave, 
Nor  proud  of  strength,  nor  passion's  headlong  slave, 
Collected  in  himself,  awaits  his  foe, 
Smiles  at  his  rage,  and  wards  each  furious  blow. 
In  vain  Aumale  his  boasted  power  tries, 
His  arm  no  more  its  wonted  strength  supplies, — 
While  cool  Turenne  the  combat's  rage  renews, 
Attacks  with  vigor,  and  with  skill  pursues. 
Till  proud  Aumale  sinks  baffled  to  the  ground, 
His  hot  blood  pouring  from  a  ghastly  w^ound. 
Now  Discord  shrieks ;  hell,  echoing  her  despair, 
With  doleful  accents  fills  the  noonday  air : 
The  Leaguer's  throne  is  prostrate  in  the  dust — 
Thou  conquerest,  Bourbon !     All  our  hope  is  lost. 
The  wretched  people,  with  lamenting  cries, 
Attest  their  grief,  and  rend  the  vaulted  skies ; 
Aumale,  all  weak,  and  stretch'd  upon  the  sand. 
His  falchion,  useless,  fallen  from  his  hand ; 
Fainting,  yet  strives  fresh  vigor  to  regain. 
And  seems  to  threaten  still,  though  all  in  vain. 
He  tries  to  speak,  but  not  a  word  accents. 
While  shame  the  fury  of  his  look  augments. 
He  heaves,  he  sinks,  he  opes  his  sightless  eyes. 
Turns  them  towards  Paris,  and,  in  sighing,  dies. 
Thou,  Mayne,  wert  witness  of  his  latest  breath. 
Thou  trembledst  when  thy  champion  lay  in  death ; 
Then  w^as  presaged  thy  fast  approaching  fall. 
And  thou  wast  more  than  conquer'd  by  Aumale. 

The  Leaguers,  now,  to  Paris'  gates  repair ; 


THE    HENRI ADE.  235 

Aumale,'  upon  their  shoulders,  slowly  bear. 

O'ercome  with  woe,  in  silence  and  amaze, 

Upon  his  bleeding  corse  ten  thousands  gaze ; 

That  forehead  gash'd,  those  cheeks  with  gore  bespread, 

That  open  mouth,  that  ill-supported  head, 

Those  rayless  eyes,  now  fix'd  in  horrid  stare. 

Excite  their  pity,  and  their  bosoms  tear ; 

And  yet  no  cry  is  heard,  no  tear  is  shed, 

Shame,  sorrow,  terror  still  them  as  the  dead. 

But  hark  !     That  stillness  breaks  !     A  sudden  sound 

Replete  with  horror  fills  the  welkin  round. 

The  bold  assailants,  with  tumultuous  cries. 

Seek  the  assault,  and  hope  the  long-sought  prize. 

But  Blanche's  son,  in  heaven  the  w^atchful  ward 

Of  France's  realm  and  France's  rightful  Lord, 

Calm'd  the  rash  ardor  of  his  scion's  mind  ; — 

As  holds  midway  in  air  the  stormy  wind, 

He  who  unseen  the  elements  enslaves. 

And  sets  the  limit  to  the  surging  waves ; 

Who  cities  founds,  or  bids  them  prone  decline ; 

Who  holds  man's  wavering  heart  in  hand  divine. 

Then  Henry,  whom  these  milder  thoughts  engage, 

Their  transports  calms,  and  seeks  to  lull  their  rage. 

Stubborn,  howe'er,  and  adverse  to  his  will, 

Howe'er  ungrateful,  'twas  his  country  still ; 

Hated  by  subjects  whom  he  wish'd  to  save. 

The  mercies  they  denied  his  virtue  gave ; 

Pleased  if  his  bounty  could  their  crimes  efface. 


1  The  Chevalier  d' Aumale  was  killed,  about  this  time,  at  Saint-Denis, 
and  his  death  greatly  enfeebled  the  party  of  the  League.  His  duel  with 
the  Viscount  de  Turenne  is  only  a  fiction ;  but  these  combats  were  then 
very  common.  A  very  celebrated  one  took  place  between  the  Sieur  de 
Marivaux,  a  royalist,  and  the  Sieur  Claude  de  Marolles,  a  Leaguer.  They 
fought  in  presence  of  the  people  and  the  army,  upon  the  very  day  when 
Henry  III  was  assassinated.     Marolles  was  victorious. 


236  THE    HENRIADE. 

And  force  the  wretched  to  accept  of  grcace. 
All  desperate  means  he  shudder'd  to  employ ; 
He  sought  to  conquer  Paris,'  not  destroy. 
Famine,  perhaps,  and  lengthen'd  scenes  of  woe, 
Might  bend  to  law  a  proud,  mistaken  foe  : 
Brought  up  in  plenty,  with  abundance  fed. 
To  ease  and  all  the  train  of  pleasures  bred, 
His  people,  press'd  by  want's  impulsive  sting. 
Might  seek  for  mercy  from  their  patriot  king. 

Rebellion's  sons,  whom  vengeance  fain  would  spare, 
Mistook  for  weakness  Henry's  pious  care. 
His  valor  all  forgot ;  in  stubborn  pride. 
They  braved  their  master,  and  the  king  defied. 

But  when  no  more  along  the  captive  Seine, 
The  freighted  vessels  bear  the  golden  grain — 
When  desperate  Famine  with  her  meagre  train. 
With  Death,  her  consort,  spreads  her  baneful  reign, 
In  vain  the  wretch  sends  forth  his  piteous  cries, 
Looks  up  in  vain  for  food,  and,  gasping,  dies. 
The  rich  no  more  preserve  their  wasting  health. 
But  pine  with  hunger  in  the  midst  of  wealth. 
No  sound  of  joy  the  afflicted  city  knows. 
No  sound  but  such  as  witness'd  direful  woes. 
No  more,  their  heads  with  festive  chaplets  crown'd. 
In  songs  of  joy  they  send  the  goblet  round. 
No  wines  provoke  excess,  no  savory  meats 
Excite  the  appetite.     Through  the  lone  streets, 
Now  thin  and  pale,  and  wearing  Death's  dull  stare. 
They  wander,  victims  of  the  fiend  Despair. 
The  weak  old  man,  through  famine  well-nigh  dead, 

»  Henry  IV  besieged  Paris  in  1590  with  less  than  twenty  thousand  men. 


THE    HENEIADE.  237 

Watches  beside  liis  starving  infant's  bed  ; 

Here,  a  whole  family  dies  for  want  of  food — 

There,  haggard  wretches  o'er  their  miseries  brood. 

And,  madmen-like,  in  life's  extremest  stage 

Fight  o'er  their  offal  with  relentless  rage. 

The  living  even  prey  upon  the  dead, 

And  of  their  powder'd  bones  knead  poison'd  bread.' 

Meantime  the  priests,  those  reverend  sons  of  prayer, 
Who  in  the  people's  misery  never  share. 
In  plenty  batten,  deaf  to  hunger's  cries. 
Nor  from  their  stores  distribute  wish'd  supplies.^ 
Yet  went  they  forth,  with  true  fanatic  zeal. 
To  preach  those  virtues  which  they  could  not  feel. 
To  the  poor  wretch,  death  hanging  on  his  eyes, 
Their  liberal  hand  would  ope  the  friendly  skies ; 
To  some  they  talk'd  of  vengeance  sent  from  God, 
And  Henry  punish'd  with  the  Almighty's  rod  ; 
Of  Paris,  saved  by  heaven's  immediate  love. 
And  manna  dropping  from  the  clouds  above> 
O'eraw'd  by  power,  by  artful  priests  deceived, 
The  crowd,  obsequious,  what  they  taught  believed ; 
Submissive,  half  content,  resign'd  their  breath. 
Nay,  happy  too,  they  triumph'd  in  their  death. 

With  foreign  troops,  to  swell  affliction's  tide. 
The  famish'd  city  swarm'd  on  every  side ; 

1  It  was  the  Spanish  ambassador  to  the  League  who  advised  the  making 
of  bread  of  the  bones  of  the  dead,  an  advice  which  was  followed,  and  which 
only  served  to  hasten  the  end  of  many  thousands  of  men.  It  is  an  instance 
of  the  strange  weakness  of  the  imagination,  that  these  besieged  people 
could  not  eat  the  flesh  of  their  dead  compatriots,  but  could  willingly 
grind  and  swallow  their  bones.      , 

2  Mezeray  says  that  the  ecclesiastical  lodges  and  convents,  even  that  of 
the  Capuchins,  were  stored  with  sufficient  provisions  to  last  more  than  a 
year. 


238  THE    IIENRIADE. 

Their  breasts,  where  pity  never  learn'd  to  glow, 

Lusted  for  rapine,  and  rejoiced  in  woe. 

These  came  from  haughty  Belgia's  plains,  and  those 

Helvetia's  monsters,'  hireling  friends  or  foes. 

To  mercy  deaf,  on  misery's  sons  they  press, 

And  snatch  the  little  from  extreme  distress. 

Not  for  the  soldier's  plunder,  hidden  store. 

And  heap'd-up  riches,  useful  now  no  more ; 

Not  urged  by  lust  and  lured  by  beauty's  charms, 

To  force  the  virgin  from  her  mother's  arms ; 

By  hunger,  now,  to  fiendish  deeds  they're  led, 

And  murder  deem  as  honest  toil  for  bread. 

A  woman — God  !  must  faithful  memory  ^  tell 
A  deed,  which  bears  the  horrid  stamp  of  hell ! 
Their  flinty  hearts,  which  never  felt  remorse, 
Robb'd  of  her  little  all  with  brutal  force. 
One  tender  infant  left,  her  late  fond  care. 
The  frantic  mother  eyed  with  fell  despair ; 
Then  furious,  all  at  once,  with  murderous  blade 
Rush'd  where  the  dear  devoted  child  was  laid ; 
The  smiling  babe  stretch'd  forth  its  little  arms'; 
Its  helpless  age,  sweet  looks,  and  guileless  charms, 
Spoke  daggers  to  her,  while  her  bosom  burns 
With  maddening  rage,  remorse,  and  love  by  turns. 
Fain  would  she  backward  turn,  and  strives  to  shun 
The  wretched  deed,  which  famine  wishes  done. 


*  The  Swiss  who  were  in  Paris,  in  the  pay  of  the  Duke  cle  Mayennc, 
committed  frightful  excesses,  according  to  the  accounts  of  all  the  histori- 
ans of  the  time ;  the  word  monsters  sliould  be  applied  to  them  and  not 
to  their  nation,  full  of  good  sense  and  uprightness,  -and  one  of  the  most 
respectable  nations  in  the  world,  as  it  seeks  constantly  to  preserve  its  own 
liberty  without  diminishing  that  of  others. 

'  This  story  is  related  in  all  the  memoirs  of  the  times.  Similar  horrors 
were  witnessed  at  the  siege  of  the  city  of  Sancerre. 


THE  iienriadp:. 

Thrice  did  she  rear  the  sword,  and,  all  dismay'd, 
Thrice  did  she  trembling  drop  the  bloodless  blade ; 
Till  furious  grown,  in  hollow  voice  she  cries : 
"  Cursed  be  the  fruitful  bed  and  nuptial  ties ! 
And  thou,  unhappy  offspring  of  my  womb, 
Brought  into  being  to  receive  thy  doom — 
Didst  thou  accept  this  idol  boon  of  life 
To  die  by  famine,  or  these  tyrants'  strife  ? 
Shouldst  thou  escape  their  unrelenting  rage. 
Will  pinching  hunger  spare  thy  softer  age  ? 
Then  wherefore  shouldst  thou  live,  to  weep  in  vain, 
A  wretched  wanderer  o'er  thy  parent  slain  ? 
No,  die  with  me,  ere  keen  reflection  knows 
With  bitter  anguish  to  augment  thy  woes. 
Give  me — thou  shalt,  nor  wait  the  formal  grave — 
Give  back  the  blood  thy  helpless  mother  gave ; 
I  will  entomb  thee,  and  the  world  shall  see 
A  desperate  crime,  unheard  of  yet,  in  me." 
She  said,  and  frantic  with  extreme  despair, 
Plunged  the  keen  poniard  in  her  darling  heir. 

Hither,  by  hunger  drawn,  the  ruffians  sped, 
While  yet  the  mother  on  her  infant  fed. 
Their  eyes  with  eager  joy  the  place  survey, 
Like  savage  tigers  gloating  on  their  prey. 
With  furious  wish  they  scan  the  mansion  o'er. 
Then  rush  in  rage,  and  burst  the  jarring  door. 

When,  dreadful  sight !  a  form  with  horror  wild, 
That  seem'd  a  woman  o'er  a  murder'd  child. 
Set  all  aghast :  lo !  in  its  reeking  blood 
She  bathed  her  hands,  and  sought  a  present  food. 
"  Yes,"  cried  the  wretch,  "  the  bloody  deed  is  done ; 
Look  there,  inhuman  monsters — 'tis  my  son. 


239 


240  THE    IIENRIADE. 

These  hands  had  never  worn  this  purple  hue, 
Nor  this  dear  offspring  perish'd,  but  for  you. 
Now,  ruffians,  now  with  happy  transport  strike, 
Feed  on  the  mother  and  the  babe  ahke. 
Why  heave  your  breasts  with  such  unusual  awe  ? 
Have  I  alone  offended  nature's  law  ? 
Why  stare  you  all  on  me  ?  such  horrid  food 
Befits  you  best,  ye  lustful  sons  of  blood." 

Wildly  she  speaks,  and,  with  a  look  more  wild, 
Drives  home  the  sword,  and  dies  upon  her  child. 
The  speech,  the  look,  the  deed,  with  terror  strike 
The  monsters,  who,  all  grim  and  spectre-like, 
Glare  on  the  scene,  and  stealthily  retire, 
Dreading  upon  their  heads  God's  vengeful  fire. 
Soon  through  the  city  spreads  the  horrid  tale ; 
The  people  groan,  the  leaders'  hearts  now  fail. 
And  ere  long  reaching  e'en  the  tented  field. 
Bursts  the  proud  monarch's  fount  of  tears  long  scal'd. 

"  O  God,"  he  cried,  "  to  whom  my  thoughts  are  bare, 
Who  knowest  all  I  can,  and  all  I  dare. 
To  thee  I  lift  these  hands,  unstain'd  with  blood — 
Thou  knowest  I  war  not  'gainst  my  country's  good. 
To  me  impute  not  nor  their  crimes  nor  woes. 
Let  Mayenne  say  from  whence  the  ruin  flows. 
For  all  these  ills,  let  him  advance  the  plea 
Which  tyrants  only  use,  necessity ; 
To  be  thy  country's  foe,  Mayenne,  be  thine — 
To  be  its  father,  be  that  duty  mine. 
I  am  their  father,  and  would  wish  to  spare 
Rebellious  children  with  a  father's  care. 
Should  my  compassion,  then,  but  madly  arm 
A  desperate  rebel  to  extend  his  harm  ? 


THE   HENEIADE.  241 

Or  must  I  lose  my  regal  crown  to  show 

Indulgent  mercy  on  a  subject  foe? 

Yes — let  him  live ;  and  if  such  mercy  cost 

So  dear  a  price  as  all  my  kingdom  lost, 

Let  this  memorial  dignify  my  grave — 

To  rule  o'er  foes  I  sought  not,  but  to  save." 

He  said,'  and  bade  the  storms  of  vengeance  cease, 
And  liush'd  the  tumults  with  returning  peace. 
Paris  again  her  cheerful  accents  heard. 
And  willing  troops  obey'd  their  Henry's  word. 
Now  on  the  walls  the  throng  impetuous  swarms ; 
And  all  around,  pale,  trembling,  wasted  forms 
Stalk  like  the  ghosts,  which  from  the  shades  of  night, 
Compell'd  by  magic  force,  revisit  light. 
When  potent  magi,  with  enchantments  fell, 
Invoke  the  powers  below  and  startle  hell. 
What  admiration  swell'd  each  happy  breast 
To  find  a  guardian  in  their  foe  profess'd ! 
By  their  own  chiefs  deserted  and  betray'd. 
An  advei^se  army  lent  a  willing  aid. 
These  pikes,  which  late  dealt  slaughter  all  around 
With  desperate  force,  no  longer  rear'd  to  wound. 
Now  kindly  raised  to  second  Henry's  care. 
On  their  stain'd  points  the  cheering  nurture  bear. 
"  Are  these,"  said  they,  "  the  monsters  of  mankind  ? 
Are  these  the  workings  of  a  tyrant  mind  ? 
This  the  proud  king,  sad  outcast  of  his  God, 
His  passions'  easy  slave,  and  people's  rod  ? 


1  Henry  IV  was  so  good  as  to  permit  his  officers  (according  to  Mezeray) 
to  send  refreshments  to  their  old  friends  and  to  the  ladies.  The  soldiers 
followed  the  example  of  the  officers.  The  king,  moreover,  had  the  gener- 
osity to  permit  all  those  to  leave  the  city  who  desired  to  do  so.  Thus  it 
was  that  the  besiegers  nourished  the  besieged. 

11 


242  THE    HKNRIADK. 

No,  'tis  the  image  of  that  Power  above, 
Who  acts  with  justice,  and  delights  in  love ; 
He  triumphs,  yet  forgives,  nor  seeks  to  show 
Revenge's  malice  on  a  conquer'd  foe. 
Nay,  more,  he  comforts,  and  with  royal  grace 
Extends  assistance  to  a  rebel  race. 
Be  discord  banish'd  from  this  glorious  hour, 
And  our  blood  flow  but  to  cement  his  power  ; 
And  steady  zeal,  no  longer  faction's  slave. 
For  him  employ  that  life  he  wished  to  save." 

Such  was  the  language  Paris'  sons  express'd, 
While  soft  emotions  fill'd  each  grateful  breast. 
But  who,  alas !  can  strong  assurance  ground 
On  sickly  friendship,  which  exhales  in  sound  ? 
What  hopes  from  such  a  race  so  light  and  vain, 
Who  only  idly  rise  to  fall  again  ? 
For  now  the  priests,  whose  cursed,  designing  arts, 
Had  raised  the  flames  of  discord  in  their  hearts, 
Flock'd  round  the  people  :  "  0  ye  sons  of  shame, 
Cowards  in  war,  and  Christians  but  in  name, 
Is't  thus  your  weakness  from  your  God  would  fly  ? 
Think  on  the  martyrs  and  resolve  to  die ; 
Think  on  the  paths  their  lioly  army  trod, 
Nor,  for  preserving  life,  offend  your  God  ; 
Think  of  the  crown  religion's  sure  to  bring. 
Nor  wait  for  pardon  from  a  tyrant  king. 
Fain  would  he  lead  your  steady  faith  astray. 
And  warp  your  conscience  to  his  dangerous  way. 
His  scourge  this  seeming  kindness  shall  combine, 
And  from  pollution  save  each  holy  shrine. 

So  spake  they,  vengeful,  and  with  purpose  dire 
Blacken'd  the  king,  'till  fell  rebellion's  fire 


THE   HENRI ADE.  243 

Flamed  out  afresh,  and  full  of  desperate  strife 
They  scorn  to  own  the  debt  of  forfeit  life. 
Midst  all  these  clamors,  Henry's  virtue  known 
Pierced  through  the  skies  to  God's  eternal  throne. 
Louis,  from  whom  the  Bourbon  race  begun. 
Saw  now  the  roll  of  time  completely  done, 
When  his  son's  error  should  be  purged  away, 
And  pure  religion  beam  her  certain  ray. 
Then  from  his  breast  fled  all  the  train  of  fears. 
And  faith  establish'd  dried  up  all  his  tears. 
Then  soothing  hope,  and  fond  paternal  love. 
Proved  his  sure  guides  to  heavenly  paths  above. 

Before  time  was,  in  pure  effulgence  bright 
The  God  of  gods  had  placed  his  throne  of  light ; 
Heaven  is  beneath  his  feet ;  power,  wisdom,  love. 
Compose  his  essence  ;  while  the  saints  above. 
Triumphant  hosts,  in  deep  unfading  joys. 
Which  neither  grief  disturbs,  nor  time  destroys, 
Fill'd  with  his  glory,  fill'd  with  God's  own  Word, 
Adore  in  endless  choirs  the  sovereign  Lord. 
Before  him  seraphs  spread  their  golden  wings. 
By  whom  he  guides  all  sublunary  things. 
He  speaks,  the  earth  is  changed,  and  frail  mankind, 
The  sport  of  error,  and  in  councils  blind 
(Events  perceived,  but  causes  undescried). 
Accuse  God's  wisdom  in  their  selfish  pride. 
That  wisdom  high,  while  smiting  servile  Rome, 
Ausonia  gave  to  Northerns  as  a  home — 
Spain  to  the  tawny  sons  of  Afric's  sands, 
And  Salem's  sacred  hill  to  Moslem  hands. 
All  nations  have  their  mighty  tyrant,  all 
Rise  in  their  turns,  and  hasten  to  their  fall. 
Yet  not  forever  tyrants  sway  their  lands ; 


244  THE   IIENRIADE. 

Oft  falls  the  sceptre  in  more  favor'd  hands, 

And  heaven's  viceregents,  in  their  actions  known, 

Dispense  God's  favors  from  a  royal  throne. 

Now  Louis,  sire  of  Bourbon's  glorious  race. 
In  plaintive  words  addressed  the  Throne  of  Grace. 
"  Lord  of  the  world,  if  from  the  azure  skies 
Thou  lookest  on  mortals  with  considering  eyes, 
See  how  rebellion's  hateful  treason  stains 
The  generous  sons  on  famed  Lutetia's  plains. 
If  all  unmindful  of  a  subject's  awe, 
They  spurn  their  king,  nor  heed  the  royal  law, 
'Tis  for  thy  faith  their  ardent  bosoms  feel. 
And  disobedience  springs  from  holy  zeal. 
Behold  the  king,  of  tried,  illustrious  worth, 
The  terror,  love,  example  of  the  earth ; 
With  so  much  virtue  couldst  thou  form  his  mind, 
To  leave  him  pathless,  and  in  errors  blind  ? 
Must  thy  most  perfect  work  forego  all  bliss. 
And  only  Henry  thank  his  God  amiss  ? 
Let  him,  henceforth,  mistaken  notions  shun ; 
Give  France  a  master,  and  the  Church  a  son. 
The  ready  subjects  to  their  monarch  bring. 
And  to  his  subjects  true  restore  the  king. 
So  in  thy  praise  let  all  their  hearts  unite, 
And  joyous  Paris  worship  God  aright." 

His  humble  prayers  the  Eternal  Maker  heard  : 
The  stars  were  moved ;  earth  trembled  at  His  word 
The  Leaguers  stood  amazed,  and  Henry's  breast 
Glow'd  with  that  faith  M'hicli  God  himself  imprest. 
When  from  her  mansion,  near  the  eternal  throne. 
Truth,  dear  to  mortals,  though  sometimes  unknown, 
Descends ;  a  veil  of  clouds,  w^ith  ample  shade. 


THE    HENRIADE.  245 

Conceal'd  from  mortal  ken  the  lovely  maid, 
Till  by  degrees,  as  at  the  approach  of  day, 
The  shadowy  mist  melts  all  dissolved  away : 
Full  to  the  sight,  now  all  the  goddess  shone, 
Clear  as  heaven's  light,  and  cheerful  as  the  sun. 
Henry,  whose  heart  was  formed  the  truth  to  shrine, 
Sees,  knows,  reveres,  at  last,  her  torch  divine ; 
Avows,  with  faith,  that  Heaven's  sacred  light 
Soars  above  man  and  humbles  Reason's  might. 
He  now  discerns  that  Church  opposed  below — 
Church  ever  one,  whose  bounds  no  limit  know. 
Free,  but  not  headless — worshipping,  not  amiss, 
God's  sovereign  grandeur  in  his  servant's  bliss. 
Christ,  for  our  sins  who  shed  his  purest  blood, 
Now,  for  his  chosen  flock  the  living  food. 
To  the  king's  self,  who  bows  with  secret  dread, 
Shows  his  true  Godhead  in  the  hallow'd  bread  ; 
The  monarch,  deep  impress'd  with  holy  awe. 
Adores  the  wonders  of  the  mystic  law. 

Now  sainted  Louis,  at  the  Lord's  command. 
The  peaceful  olive  waving  in  his  hand, 
Came  down  from  heaven  ;  a  ready  guide  to  bring 
To  Paris'  opening  walls  their  convert  king. 
In  God's  own  name,  by  whom  all  monarch's  reign. 
He  enter'd  Paris;'  while  the  Leaguer  train 
Submissive  bow  ;  e'en  the  meddling  priests 
x\re  dumb ;  and  all  around  with  jocund  feasts 
And  cries  of  joy  make  echoing  heaven  ring, 
And  hail  at  once  a  conqueror,  father,  king. 


1  This  siege  and  famine  occurred  in  the  year  1590,  and  Henry  IV  did 
not  enter  Paris  until  the  month  of  March,  1594.  He  became  a  Catholic  in 
1593.  But  it  has  been  necessary  to  crowd  these  three  great  events  in  a 
shorter  period,  because  the  narrative  is  a  poem,  and  not  a  history. 


246  THE   HENRIADE. 

Henceforth  all  nations  own'd  his  regal  state, 
Too  soon  determined,  as  began  too  late. 
The  Austrian  trembled ;  and  by  Rome  approved, 
In  Henry's  virtues  was  his  Rome  beloved. 
Discord  was  exiled  from  Lutetia's  shore, 
And  Mayenne  brave,  a  rebel  now  no  more, 
Himself,  his  province,  in  subjection  brings. 
The  best  of  subjects  to  the  best  of  kings. 


BATTLE   OF  FOE^TENOY: 


%  lotm. 


DEDICATION  TO  THE  KWO. 


Sire  : — 

I  had  not  the  presumption  to  dedicate  the  first  essay  of 
the  following  work  to  you,  apprehensive  that  I  might  thereby 
offend  the  delicacy  of  the  most  modest  of  conquerors;  but 
your  Majesty  should  consider,  that  this  is  not  a  panegyric ;  it 
is  in  part  a  faithful  picture  of  the  most  glorious  battle  that 
ever  was  fought  since  that  of  Bovines.  It  contains  the  senti- 
ments of  France,  though  but  weakly  expressed ;  it  is  a  poem 
without  exaggeration — important  truths,  without  any  alloy  of 
fiction  or  flattery.  Your  Majesty's  name  will  transmit  this  weak 
sketch  to  posterity  as  an  authentic  monument  of  so  many  glori- 
ous actions  performed  in  your  presence,  and  in  imitation  of  your 
great  example. 

Vouchsafe  then,  royal  sir,  to  add  to  the  favor  of  permitting 
this  address,  that  of  accepting  the  profound  respects  of  the 
least  of  your  subjects,  but  the  warmest  of  your  admirers. 

11- 


PRELIMINARY  DISCOURSE, 


It  is  well  known  to  the  public,  that  this  work,  composed,  at 
first,  with  all  the  rapidity  of  zeal,  was  considerably  increased 
in  every  subsequent  edition.  All  the  different  circumstances 
of  the  victory  at  Fontenoy,  which  were,  from  day  to  day,  heard 
of  at  Paris,  deserved  to  be  particularly  celebrated ;  and  what 
was  at  first  only  a  hundred  lines,  is  now  swelled  into  a  poem 
which  contains  above  three  hundred  and  forty ;  but  care  has 
been  taken  to  preserve  it  in  the  same  order,  which  consists  in 
the  prelude,  the  action,  and  the  conclusion.  This  order  has 
been  even  put  in  a  still  clearer  light,  by  giving  in  this  edition 
a  description  of  the  several  nations  of  which  the  hostile  army 
was  composed,  and  specifying  their  three  different  attacks. 

The  nations,  over  which  Louis  XIV  triumphed,  are  here 
depicted  in  true  but  not  insulting  colors ;  for  example,  where 
it  is  said  of  the  Dutch,  that  they  formerly  shook  off  the  yoke  of 
cruel  Austria^  the  obvious  meaning  of  the  words  is,  the  yoke  of 
Austria  then  cruel  to  them  ;  for  Austria  is,  now,  by  no  means 
cruel  to  the  States-General ;  and  the  queen  of  Hungary,  who 
adds  so  much  to  the  glory  of  the  house  of  Austria,  is  not  igno- 
rant of  the  profound  respect  that  the  French  bear  to  her  per- 
son and  virtues,  at  the  same  time  that  they  are  obliged  to  fight 
against  her. 

Where  it  is  said,  in  speaking  of  the  English,  ferocity  gives 
way  to  valo7',  care  has  been  taken  to  apprize  the  reader  in 
notes  to  all  the  different  editions,  that  this  reproach  of  ferocity 
falls  upon  the  soldiers  alone. 

Certain  it  is,  that  when  the  English  troops  filed  off  from 


2^2       _^    .-••*    PRELIMINArwY    DISCOUHSE. 

Fontenoy,  many  soldiers  of  that  nation  cried  out,  no  quarter. 
It  is  likewise  known,  that  when  M.  de  Sechelles  seconded  the 
king's  intentions  with  extraordinary  foresight,  and  caused  as 
much  care  to  be  taken  of  the  wounded  prisoners  of  the  enemy 
as  of  our  own  men,  some  of  the  English  foot  were  guilty  of 
outrages  against  our  soldiers,  when  in  the  wagons  which  car- 
ried off  the  wounded  both  of  the  vanquished  and  victorious 
party.  Officers,  who  have  nearly  the  same  education  all  over 
Europe,  have  the  same  generosity  of  disposition ;  but  there 
are  countries,  where  the  common  people,  free  from  restraint, 
are  more  fierce  and  brutal  than  elsewhere.  The  author  has 
not,  for  that  reason,  been  more  sparing  in  his  praises  of  the 
valor  and  conduct  of  that  nation  ;  and  he  has  taken  particular 
care  never  to  mention  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  without  be- 
stowing upon  him  those  eulogiums,  which  his  qualities  exact 
from  all  the  world. 

Some  foreigners  have  endeavored  to  persuade  the  public, 
that  the  celebrated  Addison,  in  his  poem  upon  the  campaign 
of  Hochstedt,  has  spoken  more  honorably  of  the  king's  house- 
hold troops,  than  the  author  of  the  poem  upon  the  battle  of 
Fontenoy.  The  author,  induced  by  this  reproach,  consulted 
Mr.  Addison's  poem  at  the  king's  library,  and  was  very  much 
surprised  to  find  a  great  deal  more  abuse  than  praise  in  it. 
The  passage  begins  about  the  three  hundredth  line.  There  is 
no  occasion  either  for  citing  or  answering  it ;  the  king's  house- 
hold troops  have  sufficiently  refuted  it  by  conquering.  With 
no  intention  to  deny  so  great  a  poet,  and  so  discerning  a  philo- 
sopher as  Mr.  Addison,  his  due  praise,  it  is  certain  that  he  would 
have  behaved  in  a  manner  more  worthy  of  the  name  of  poet 
and  philosopher,  if  he  had  spoken  with  more  caution  of  crowned 
heads,  which  even  an  enemy  should  respect ;  and  if  he  had 
reflected,  that  the  praises  bestowed  by  victors  upon  the  van- 
quished add  a  new  laurel  to  the  former.  There  is  some  reason 
to  think,  that  when  Mr.  Addison  was  made  Secretary  of  State, 
the  minister  regretted  the  unbecomiug  expressions  which  had 
dropped  from  the  author. 

If  the  English  poem  overflows  with  gall,  this,  on  the  other 


^Jpo; 


PRKLTMINARY    DISCOUESK. 

hand,  breathes  nothing  but  humanity.  The  author's  intention 
was  to  inspire  benevolent  sentiments,  while  he  celebrated  a 
battle.  Perish  the  wretch  who  can  take  delight  in  nothing 
but  in  pictures  of  destruction  and  representations  of  human 
misery ! 

The  nations  of  Europe  have  principles  of  humanity,  which 
are  not  to  be  found  in  the  other  quarters  of  the  world ;  they 
are  better  united  with  each  other;  they  have  certain  laws, 
which  are  common  to  them  all ;  all  their  royal  families  are 
related ;  the  inhabitants  of  each  kingdom  travel  among  their 
neighbors,  and  by  that  means  keep  up  a  reciprocal  connection 
with  them.  The  European  Christians  are  in  this  respect  in  the 
same  state  with  the  ancient  Greeks ;  they  are  engaged  in  fre- 
quent wars  with  each  other ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  these  dissen- 
sions, they  generally  observe  so  much  decorum  and  politeness, 
that  it  often  happens,  that  a  Frenchman,  an  Englishman,  and  a 
German  meeting,  seem  to  be  natives  of  the  same  city.  True 
it  is,  that  the  Lacedemonians  and  Thebans  were  less  polished 
than  the  people  of  Athens ;  but  the  several  different  nations 
of  Greece  looked  upon  each  other  as  allies,  who  never  waged 
war  but  with  a  view  to  the  re-establishment  of  peace  ;  and  they 
seldom  insulted  enemies,  who  were  to  become  their  friends  in 
a  few  years.  It  is  upon  this  principle  the  author  has  endeav- 
ored to  make  this  work  a  monument  of  the  French  monarch's 
glory,  not  of  the  shame  of  the  nations  over  which  he  triumphed. 
He  would  be 'concerned,  had  he  written  against  them  with  as 
much  bitterness  as  is  to  be  met  with  in  some  of  the  invec- 
tives which  Frenchmen  have  written  against  this  poem  composed 
by  one  of  their  countrymen  ;  but  the  jealousy  between  author 
and  author  is  much  stronger  than  that  between  nation  and 
nation. 

It  is  said  of  the  Swiss,  that  they  are  our  ancient  friends  and 
fellow-citizens,  because  they  have  been  so  these  two  hundred 
and  fifty  years  past.  It  is  said  of  the  foreigners  that  serve  in 
our  armies,  that  they  followed  the  example  set  them  by  the 
king's  household  troops  and  by  our  other  forces ;  because  it  is 
in  effect  the  part  of  the  nation  that  fights  for  its  prince  to  set 


254  PRELIMINARY   DISCOURSE. 

the  example,  and  a  more  noble  example  was  never  set  before. 
The  French  can  never  be  denied  the  glory  of  valor  and  polite- 
ness. A  certain  author  has  had  the  hardihood  to  assert,  that 
the  following-  verse, 

Je  vols  cet  etrangcr  qu'on  croit  n6  parmi  nous, 

■was  meant  as  a  compliment  to  a  general  born  in  Saxony  for 
having  the  air  of  a  Frenchman.  Air  and  deportment  are  here 
entirely  out  of  the  question  :  any  man  of  common  discernment 
will  plainly  perceive,  that  the  meaning  of  the  verse  is,  that  this 
general's  attachment  to  the  king  was  as  great  as  if  he  had  been 
born  his  subject. 

This  criticism  is  much  of  a  piece  with  that  of  a  certain  per- 
son, who  advanced,  that  it  was  not  proper  to  say  of  the  same 
general,  that  he  was  dangerously  ill,  when  in  effect  his  courage 
made  him  forget  the  state  of  pain  to  which  he  was  reduced, 
and  enabled  him  to  triumph,  at  once,  over  the  weakness  of  his 
body  and  the  enemies  of  his  king. 

Decency  admits  of  no  other  answer  to  those,  who  have  so 
notoriously  violated  its  laws. 

The  author's  sole  view  w^as  to  recite  faithfully  whatever  came 
to  his  knowledge ;  and  his  only  regret  was  the  not  having  it 
in  his  power  to  celebrate  all  the  glorious  actions  he  has  since 
heard  of,  confined  as  he  was  by  want  of  time  and  the  small  com- 
pass of  his  work ;  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  say  every  thing, 
but  all  that  he  has  said  is  true  :  adulation  would  have  disgraced 
a  work,  whose  basis  is  the  glory  of  the  nation.  He  was  so 
entirely  engrossed  by  the  pleasure  of  telling  the  truth,  that  he 
did  not  think  of  sending  his  work  to  the  great  personages  cele- 
brated in  it,  till  it  had  gone  through  six  editions. 

All  who  are  named  therein  had  not  equal  opportunities-  of 
signalizing  themselves.  The  colonel,  w^ho,  at  the  head  of  his 
regiment,  waited  the  order  to  advance,  could  not  do  as  import- 
ant services  as  the  lieutenant-general,  who  gave  the  advice  to 
attack  the  English  forces  with  vigor,  and  who  galloped  off  to 
head  the  charge  of  the  king's  household  troops  upon  them. 
But  if  the  great  action  of  one  deserves  to  be  related,  the  ar- 


PRELIMINARY    DISCOURSE.  255 

dent  courage  of  the  other  should  by  no  means  be  passed  over 
in  silence.  One  receives  general  praises  for  his  valor,  another 
is  celebrated  for  some  particular  service ;  the  wounds  of  some 
are  commemorated,  the  tribute  of  grief  is  paid  to  the  death  of 
others. 

In  this  manner  the  celebrated  Monsieur  Despreaux  did  justice 
to  the  memory  of  those  who  had  been  concerned  in  passing 
the  Rhine.  He  cites  about  twenty  names ;  there  are  in  this 
poem  above  sixty,  and  the  reader  would  find  four  times  the 
number  did  the  nature  of  the  work  admit  of  it. 

It  would  be  something  extraordinary  if,  while  Homer,  Vir- 
gil, and  Tasso  have  described  the  wounds  of  a  thousand  imagi- 
nary warriors,  a  modern  poet  should  not  be  allowed  the  privi- 
lege of  celebrating  those  of  real  heroes,  who  lavished  their 
blood  for  their  king  and  country,  and  among  whom  there  were 
several  whom  he  had  the  honor  of  knowing,  and  whose  loss  he 
sincerely  regrets. 

The  scrupulous  attention  given  to  this  edition  should  vouch 
for  the  several  facts  related  in  the  poem.  There  is  no  one  but 
what  should  be  dear  to  the  nation,  and  to  the  several  families 
interested  in  them.  Indeed,  who  can  avoid  being  sensibly 
affected  in  reading  the  name  of  a  son,  a  brother,  a  dear  rela- 
tive, or  a  friend,  killed,  wounded,  or  risking  his  life  in  a  battle 
which  will  be  forever  famous ;  who,  I  say,  can  avoid  being 
affected  at  reading  such  a  name  in  a  poem,  which,  weak  as  it 
is,  has  been,  more  than  once,  honored  by  the  perusal  of  our 
monarch,  and  which  his  majesty  permitted  to  be  dedicated  to 
him  only  because  he  overlooked  his  own  eulogium,  in  con- 
sideration of  that  of  the  officers  who  fought  and  conquered 
under  his  command  ? 

The  author's  work  should  rather  be  looked  upon  as  the  pro- 
duction of  a  good  citizen  than  of  a  poet.  He  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  adorn  this  poem  with  fiction,  especially  during  the 
first  eagerness  of  the  public,  when  the  whole  attention  of 
Europe  was  engaged  by  interesting  narratives  of  that  victory 
purchased  with  so  much  blood. 

Fiction  may  embellish  a  subject  in  itself  less  great,  less  in- 


250  PRELIMINARY   DISCOURSE. 

teresting,  or  placed  at  such  a  distance  as  to  cause  less  agitation 
in  the  mind.  It  was  three  months  after  the  action  that 
Boileau  amused  himself  by  describing  the  passage  over  the 
Rhine ;  and  that  action,  brilliant  as  it  was,  is  not  to  be  com- 
pared, either  for  importance  or  danger,  to  a  pitched  battle, 
gained  over  an  enemy  skilled  in  the  art  of  war,  intrepid,  and 
superior  in  number,  by  a  king  who,  with  his  son,  stood  exposed 
during  four  hours  to  the  fire  of  the  artillery. 

Not  till  after  he  had  indulged  the  first  emotions  of  zeal,  and 
exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  praise  those  who  had  faithfully 
served  their  country  upon  this  important  occasion,  did  the 
author  take  the  liberty  of  inserting  in  his  poem  some  of  those 
fictions,  which,  lavished,  would  only  weaken  the  subject,  and 
render  it  less  striking  and  animated  :  and  in  this  preface  he 
has  said  nothing  in  prose  but  what  Mr.  Addison  himself  has 
said  in  verse  in  his  celebrated  poem  upon  the  campaign  of  Hoch- 
stedt.  It  is  by  no  means  out  of  place,  two  thousand  years 
after  the  war  of  Troy,  to  represent  Venus  bestowing  upon  her 
son  ^Eneas  arms  forged  by  Vulcan,  which  were  to  render  that 
hero  invulnerable.  It  is  equally  allowed  to  paint  a  deity 
presenting  him  with  the  sword,  which  he  was  to  plunge  into 
the  breast  of  his  enemy.  The  council  of  the  gods  may  be 
assembled,  and  all  hell  let  loose  ;  Alecto  may  pour  her  poison 
into  the  hearts  of  men,  and  intoxicate  their  minds  with  frenzy ; 
but  neither  the  taste  of  the  age,  the  subject  of  the  poem,  which 
is  a  recent  event,  nor  the  narrow  limits  to  which  it  is  confined, 
admit  of  those  picturesque  allegories  which  are  now  worn 
threadbare  by  the  poets.  The  world  should  excuse  a  citizen, 
deeply  affected  with  his  subject,  for  giving  more  scope  to  the 
emotions  of  his  heart  than  to  the  sallies  of  his  imagination  ;  and 
the  author  acknowledges  that  he  felt  more  in  writing  these 
lines: 

*'  Tu  meurs,  jeune  Craon  !  que  le  ciel  moins  severe 
Veille  sur  les  destins  de  ton  genereux  frere  !" 

"  Craon,  thou  fall'st !  may  heaven,  less  severe, 
Make  thy  brave  brother's  fate  its  chiefest  care." 


PRELIMINARY    DISCOURSE.  257 

than  if  he  had  called  up  the  Furies  to  deprive  some  youthful 
warrior  of  life. 

Divine  agents  are  necessary  in  an  epic  poem,  especially  when 
the  heroes  of  fabulous  ages  are  introduced.  But  here  it  is  the 
true  Jupiter,  the  true  Mars,  a  king  intrepid  in  the  midst  of 
danger,  and  who  ventures  his  life  for  subjects  of  whom  he  is 
the  father.  It  is  he,  it  is  his  son,  it  is  those  who  conquered  under 
his  auspices,  that  the  poet  intended,  and  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  represent,  and  not  a  Juno  or  a  Juturna.  Again,  the  few 
who  have  a  competent  knowledge  of  our  poetry  are  well  aware 
that  it  is  much  easier  to  make  heaven,  earth,  and  hell  engage 
in  a  battle,  than  to  distinguish,  by  just  and  sensible  images, 
carabineers  who  carry  rifled  arms,  grenadiers,  dragoons,  who 
fight  both  on  foot  and  horseback ;  to  mention  retrenchments 
raised  in  a  hurry  ;  an  enemy  that  advances  in  a  battalion ;  and 
in  a  word,  to  speak  in  verse  of  things  which  have  hitherto  never 
been  spoken  of  except  in  prose. 

This  was  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Addison,  at  once  an  ingenious 
poet,  and  a  judicious  critic.  In  the  poem  by  which  he  has 
immortalized  the  campaign  of  Ilochstedt,  he  has  used  much  less 
fiction  than  has  been  admitted  by  the  author  of  that  upon  the 
battle  of  Fontenoy.  lie  was  not  ignorant  that  the  Duke  of 
Marlborough  and  Prince  Eugene  would  have  been  but  little 
pleased  to  see  gods,  where  only  the  great  actions  of  men  should 
be  displayed.  He  was  likewise  aware  that  the  exploits  of  an- 
tiquity may  be  heightened  by  invention  ;  but  that  those  of  the 
moderns  run  great  risk  of  being  weakened  by  insipid  allegories ; 
he  took  a  much  wiser  course  :  he  interested  all  Europe  in  his 
action. 

These  short  poems  of  three  or  four  hundred  lines  upon  the 
afi'airs  of  the  present  age,  resemble  a  tragedy,  in  one  respect : 
the  ground-work  of  them  should  be  of  itself  interesting  ;  and 
foreign  ornaments  are  almost  always  superfluous. 

It  was  judged  proper  to  specify  the  different  corps  that  en- 
gaged, their  arms,  their  posts,  and  the  place  where  they  attack- 
ed the  enemy  ;  relate  that  the  English  battalion  penetrated  to 
our  ranks,  and  show  how  it  was  routed  and  broken  by  the 


258  PRELIMINARY   DISCOURSE. 

king*s  household  troops,  the  carabineers,  the  gendarmerie,  the 
Norman  regiment,  the  Irish  brigade,  etc.  Had  not  the  author 
entered  into  a  circumstantial  detail  of  these  particulai's,  in 
which  so  much  heroism  was  displayed,  the  battle  of  Fontenoy 
would  be  in  nothing  distinguished  from  that  of  Tolbiac. 
Mons.  Despreaux,  in  his  poem  upon  the  passage  of  the  Rhine, 
has  the  following  lines  : 

"  Revel  les  suit  de  pres  ;  sous  ce  clief  redoute. 
Marche  de  cuirassiers  I'escadion  indompt^." 

"  Next  Revel  follows,  under  whose  command 
Marches,  of  cuirassiers,  a  hardy  band. ' ' 

The  author  of  the  following  poem  has  given  a  picturesque  de- 
scription of  the  carabineers,  instead  of  calling  them  by  their 
name,  which  is  more  inharmonious  than  that  of  cuirassiers.  It 
was  thought  more  advisable  to  characterize  the  several  pro- 
vinces of  the  staff  oflBcers,  than  to  give  in  verse  the  names  of 
such  of  that  list  as  were  wounded. 

The  author  has,  however,  thought  proper  to  call  the  king's 
household  troops  by  that  name,  rather  than  make  use  of  any 
other  term;  this  name — household  troops — which  comprises 
so  many  invincible  bodies,  contains  an  idea  sufficiently  great, 
without  the  addition  of  any  other  figure.  Mr.  Addison  him- 
self has  given  them  no  other  name.  The  rapidity  of  the  action 
furnishes  another  reason  for  using  this  term. 

"  Vous  peuple  de  heros  dont  la  foule  s'avance, 
Louis,  son  fils,  I'etat,  I'Europe  est  en  vos  mains. 
Maison  du  roy,  marchez,"  etc. 

The  addition  of  another  syllable  would  have  rendered  the  last 
line  altogether  flat  and  prosaic. 

It  was  judged  proper  not  to  deviate  a  moment  from  the 
gravity  of  the  subject.  Despreaux,  indeed,  writing  of  the  pas- 
sage over  the  Rhine,  pretty  nearly  in  the  style  of  his  epistles, 
has  mixed  the  facetious  with  the  heroic  ;  for,  immediately 
after  the  following  verses, 

"  Un  bruit  s'^pand  qu'Enghien  et  Conde  sont  passez ; 
Cond6  dont  le  seul  nom  fait  tomber  les  murailles, 


PRELIMINARY    DISCOURSE.  259 

Force  les  escadrons  et  gagne  les  batailles, 
Enghien,  de  son  hymen,  le  seul  et  digne  fruit,"  etc., 

"  That  Enghien  and  Conde  now  are  past, 
llie  busy  goddess  Fame  aloud  declares  ; 

Conde,  whose  force  o'erturns  walls  built  to  last. 
Whose  upraised  arm  all  adverse  power  o'erbears  ; 
Enghien,  the  worthy  son  of  such  a  sire," 

he  proceeds  thus  : 

"  Bientot — mais  Wurts  s'oppose  a  I'ardeur  qui  m'anime, 
Finissons  ;  il  est  temps  ;  aussi  bien  si  la  rime 
Allait,  mal  a  propos,  m'engager  dans  Arnheim, 
Je  ne  sais,  pour  sortir,  de  porte  qu'Hildesheim. 

"  Soon— but  Wurts  quenches  my  poetic  fire. 
Hold,  it  is  time  ;  for  if  my  patriot  ire 
Should  rashly  lead  me  to  Arnheim, 
There  will  be  no  escape  but  Hildesheim. 

Those  who  have  wished  that  the  author,  in  his  narrative 
poem  upon  the  battle  of  Fontenoy,  had  adopted  some  strokes 
of  this  familiar  style  of  Boileau,  seem  not  to  have  sufficiently 
distinguished  times  and  places,  nor  to  have  duly  weighed  the 
ditFerence  between  an  epistle  and  a  work  of  a  more  serious 
and  severe  sort.  What  is  graceful  in  the  epistolary  way  might 
be  quite  the  reverse  in  the  heroic. 

It  would  be  improper  to  say  any  thing  further  upon  art  and 
taste,  at  the  head  of  a  work  which  turns  upon  the  most  im- 
portant interests,  and  which  should  fill  the  mind  entirely  with 
the  ideas  of  the  glory  of  our  king,  and  the  happiness  of  our 
country. 


POEM 


THE    BATTLE    OF    FONTEN^OY, 


What  !  could  the  bard — whose  famed  satiric  lays 
Have  gain'd  a  wreath  of  never-fading  bays — 
His  voice  inspired  by  energy  divine, 
Paint,  deluged  o'er  with  blood,  the  banks  of  Rhine ; 
Sing  how  her  billows,  struck  with  horror,  fled, 
While  her  defenders  round  by  thousands  bled  ; 
How  e'en  her  god  was  seized  with  dire  dismay, 
And  to  our  conquering  ancestors  gave  way  ! 
And  Avhen  your  king,  in  fields  with  crimson  dyed, 
Sees  instant  death  fly  round  on  every  side  ; 
And  from  proud  Tournay,  where,  with  ceaseless  roar 
His  mortal  engines  urged  the  siege  before. 
Retires,  suspending  the  besieger's  rage. 
And  takes  the  field,  impatient  to  engage  ; 
While  his  great  son,  by  love  of  glory  led, 
For  tented  fields  forsakes  the  nuptial  bed  : 
Great  through  his  valor,  happy  through  his  care, 
Can  you,  my  countrymen,  to  praise  forbear  ? 
Behold  your  monarch  deathless  glory  gain, 
Where  Fontenoy  extends  her  spacious  plain. 


262  POEM    UPON    THE 

Glory  and  virtue,  powers  divine  attend — 
You,  who  our  monarch  aid,  and  who  defend — 
Bcllona,  goddess  of  the  dreadful  fight, 
Minerva,  who  in  wisdom  doth  delight : 
Thou,  ruling  passion  of  each  generous  heart, 
Our  Country's  Love,  your  succor  now  impart ; 
My  laboring  breast,  oh  !  powers  divine  inspire, 
And  fill  the  poet  with  a  warrior's  fire  ; 
Paint  their  great  actions  in  a  deathless  page, 
Such  as  may  live  to  every  distant  age. 
My  soul  on  fancy's  pinions  wings  her  way, 
The  adverse  hosts  already  I  survey  ; 
Their  bands  I  see  with  mutual  hate  engage, 
I  see  the  battle  glow  with  ten-fold  rage  ; 
I  see  the  haughty  Saxon  there  advance, 
Maurice,'  among  us  deem'd  a  son  of  France, 
Hovering  upon  the  brink  of  endless  night. 
His  deathless  soul,  prepared  to  take  its  flight. 
In  sorrow  lingers,  poised  upon  the  wing, 
Unwilling  to  desert  its  Icaguer'd  king  ; 
A  single  day  on  earth  its  last  desire. 
Then  from  earth's  scenes  contented  to  retire. 
Propitious  Heaven,  attend  the  hero's  ways, 
For  Louis'  sake,  and  ours,  prolong  his  days. 
The  trench  forsaking,  Harcourt^  joins  our  host ; 
Each  danger  is  foreseen,  assign'd  each  post ; 
Attach'd  both  to  his  country  and  the  throne, 
Noailles'  the  good  of  France  regards  alone. 


»  Marshal  Saxe,  being  dangerously  ill  during  the  battle,  was  carried 
through  the  ranks  in  a  litter,  when  his  weakness,  and  the  pains  he  felt, 
rendered  him  unable  to  ride.  When  the  king  embraced  him  after  the  vic- 
tory, he  expressed  the  same  sentiments  that  are  ascribed  to  him  here. 

^  The  Duke  of  Harcourt  had  invested  Tournay. 

»  A  Marshal  of  France. 


BATTLE    OF    FONTPINOY.  26 1 

The  mighty  D'Eu/  whose  birth  from  Conde  springs, 
D'Eu,  whose  right  arm  the  Gallic  lightning  wings ; 
The  chief,  ^  for  youth  remark'd,  for  valor  more, 
"Whose  great  exploits  the  Mein  had  seen  before ; 
Boufflers  and  Luxembourg,  untaught  to  yield, 
Depons,  Bavaria,  hasten  to  the  field ; 
The  stroke  decisive  at  their  posts  they  wait. 
Their  men  attend  with  sanguine  hope  elate  : 
Danoy,^  w  ho  still  with  fortune  favor  found, 
Berenger  for  the  Rhine's  defence  rcnown'd ; 
Chabanes,  Colbert,  and  Galerande  advance, 
Du  Chaila,  all  the  hardy  chiefs  of  France ;'' 
These,  in  the  silent  horror  of  the  night, 
"Wait  with  impatience  for  the  promised  fight. 
Already  from  the  east,  the  dawn  of  day 
Upon  the  standards  darts  a  feeble  ray  ; 
Standards,  which  twenty  different  nations  bear, 
That  threat'ning  death  wave  proudly  in  the  air. 
The  Flemings  ruled  by  France  in  time  of  yore. 
Who  then  knew  plenty  which  they  know  no  more ; 
The  Dutch  to  whom  the  Indies  homage  pay. 
By  industry  and  freedom  raised  to  sway, 
Who,  long  oppress'd  by  Austria's  laws  severe. 
Now  arm  for  those  whose  yoke  they  could  not  bear ; 
The  Hanoverian's  ever-constant  band. 
To  combat  brave,  and  prompt  t'obey  command ; 
The  haughty  Austrians  of  past  greatness  vain. 


1  Master  of  the  artillery. 

2  The  Duke  of  Penthievre,  who  had  signalized  himself  at  the  battle  of 
Dettingen. 

3  Monsieur  de  Danoy  was  taken  by  his  nurse  out  of  a  heap  of  dead  and 
dying  men,  at  the  battle  of  Malplaquet,  two  days  after  it  was  fought :  this 
is  a  certain  fact.  The  same  woman  came  with  a  passport,  accompanied  by 
a  sergeant  of  the  king's  regiment,  in  which  he  was  then  an  officer. 

•»  The  lieutenant-generals  in  their  several  divisions. 


261  POEM    UPON   TlIK 

And  the  long  glories  of  their  Caesar's  reign : 
Chief  the  aspiring  nation,  that  with  pride 
Beholds  her  greatness  swell  on  every  side ; 
And  of  the  Gallic  glory  jealous  still, 
Thinks  Europe's  balance  subject  to  her  will. 
All  these  pour  on  us  eager  to  engage, 
By  hope  seduced,  by  hatred  fired  to  rage. 
The  never-conquer'd  genius  of  the  State 
Attends  our  monarch,  and  defies  their  hate ; 
Roused  by  the  din  of  war,  the  gods  repair 
From  rivers,  woods,  and  floods  to  fields  of  air. 
Doubtful  for  whom  their  silver  stream  shall  flow 
And  in  whose  fertile  plains  their  harvests  grow. 
Fortune  displays  a  laurel  wreath  on  high. 
And  hovering  near  them  wings  the  azure  sky  : 
Provoked  that,  independent  of  her  sway, 
Valor  alone  shall  win  the  glorious  day. 
Cumberland,  who  the  allied  hosts  commands, 
To  firm  array  draws  out  his  hardy  bands ; 
Not  where  Scamander  flow'd  in  many  a  round, 
Under  those  walls  in  ancient  song  renown'd. 
Did  the  great  heroes  of  that  famous  age 
Like  these  with  order  in  the  field  engage. 
But  such  was  Scipio,  such  the  chief,  whose  fate 
In  ruin  plunged  the  Carthaginian  State  ; 
Skill,  equal  to  their  courage,  they  display'd, 
Each  to  his  rival's  worth  due  homage  paid. 
Ruin  and  death  in  various  forms  appear, 
But  Louis'  dauntless  bosom  knows  no  fear. 
With  their  rude  throats  a  hundred  cannon 'gave 
The  signal,  then  march'd  forth  the  squadron  brave^ 
With  firm  and  speedy  pace,  in  just  array. 
Towards  our  ranks  they  took  their  hostile  way ; 
Before  them  Terror  stalks,  a  phantom  dire ; 


BATTLE   OF   FONTENOY.  265 

Onward  they  march,  environ'd  all  with  fire ; 
Thus  a  thick  cloud  by  winds  is  borne  on  high, 
Whence  lightning,  thunder,  and  destruction  fly. 
They  come,  those  rivals  of  our  monarch's  fame. 
More  fierce  than  we,  their  worth  perhaps  the  same ; 
Quickened  to  hope  by  battle-fields  of  yore. 
Bourbons  revenge  whate'er  the  Valois  bore ! 
With  direful  shock  the  hosts  three  times  engage, 
Thrice  change  the  ground,  yet  meet  with  equal  rage. 
The  French,  whose  fire  their  leader  strove  to  rein, 
With  art  to  prowess  join'd  their  posts  maintain; 
The  cruel  hand  of  death  strikes  either  side. 
And  constant  carnage  swells  the  bloody  tide. 
By  the  sword's  edge,  or  by  a  leaden  death. 
Chiefs,  soldiers,  ofiicers,  resign  their  breath  : 
Sharing  a  common  fate,  in  heaps  they  lie, 
The  dead  embracing  those  just  doom'd  to  die, 
While  groans  of  anguish,  mix'd  with  fearful  prayer, 
For  heaven's  vengeance  rouse  the  swooning  air. 
Gramont,  for  valor  and  for  worth  renown'd, 
Cover'd  with  wounds  lies  prostrate  on  the  ground ; 
Blest  had  he  known,  e'er  sunk  in  endless  night, 
That  Louis  was  victorious  in  the  fight. 
What  now  avail  his  titles  of  command,' 
The  warrior's  truncheon  which  once  graced  his  hand, 
Honors  on  which  the  great  in  vain  presume, 
With  them  forgotten  in  the  silent  tomb ! 
Craon,^  thou  fall'st !  may  heaven,  less  severe. 
Make  thy  brave  brother's  fate  its  chiefest  care. 


1  He  was  on  tlie  point  of  being  created  a  marshal  of  France. 

2  Nineteen  officers  belonging  to  the  regiment  of  Hainaut,  -were  either 
killed  or  wounded.  The  Prince  de  Beauvau,  brother  to  Craon,  was  serv- 
ing in  Italy. 

12 


266  POEM   UPON   THE 

Say,  much-loved  Longaunay,'  wliat  art  can  save 
Such  worth  as  thine  from  an  untimely  grave  ? 
Those  sons  of  Mars,'^  who  at  their  chief's  command, 
Darted  like  lightning  on  the  hostile  band, 
Stopp'd  in  their  course  impetuous,  breathless  fall, 
Their  speed  o'ertaken  by  the  murderous  ball ; 
As  birds  when  shot  upon  their  airy  round, 
Precipitately  fall  upon  the  ground. 
D'Havre  Ms  by  a  hostile  sabre  slain  ; 
D'Aubeterre  beholds  upon  the  ensanguined  plain. 
Close  by  his  side,  his  dauntless  chiefs  expire, 
Victims  or  to  the  hostile  sword  or  fire ; 
Warriors,  whom  Chabrillant  with  Brancas  leads, 
IIow  many  English  slain  appease  your  shades ! 
Mars,  sanguinary  god,  our  thanks  we  pay. 
That  Colbert's  noble  race^  escaped  that  day : 
E'en  war's  fierce  god  in  virtue  takes  delight. 
Since  Guerchi*  'scapes  uninjured  from  the  fight. 
But  thou,  brave  d'Ache,^  what  shall  be  thy  fate  ? 
'Tis  Heaven's  thy  years  to  lengthen  or  abate. 
Hapless  Lutteaux,'  with  wounds  all  cover'd  o'er, 
Striving  to  cure  thee.  Art  but  tortures  more  : 
Thou  diest  in  torments,  while  with  ceaseless  prayer, 
We  importune  the  gods  thy  life  to  spare. 
How  many  virtues  does  the  tomb  devour ! 


'  Monsieur  de  Longaunay,  colonel  of  the  new  grenadiers,  died  of  his 
wounds  after  the  battle. 

'  General  officers,  de  Puysdgur,  de  Mezieres,  de  St.  Sauveur,  de  St. 
George. 

•  The  Duke  d'Havre,  colonel  of  the  crown  regiment. 

•  M.  de  Croissy,  with  his  two  sons  and  his  nephew,  M.  Duplessis  Ch^- 
tillon,  was  slightly  wounded. 

5  All  the  officers  of  his  regiment  (Eoyal-des-Vaisseaux)  were  Imts  de 
combat :  he  alone  escaped  unhurt. 

•  M.  d' Ache  ('tis  generally  written  d'Apcher)  a  lieutenant-general. 

»  M.  de  Lutteaux,  a  lieutenant-general,  who  died  in  the  surgeon's  hands. 


BATTLE   OF  FONTENOY.  267 

How  brilliant  youth  is  nipt,  e'en  in  its  flower ! 
What  tears  our  bloody  laurels  should  bedew ! 
Conquests  so  dearly  bought,  how  should  we  rue ! 
Those  valiant  leaders  perish  in  the  field, 
Our  happy  lives  each  day  new  pleasures  yield ; 
Voluptuous  ease  and  luxury  unite, 
To  glut  our  souls  with  every  soft  delight. 
.  This  bliss  our  sovereign  purchased  at  the  head 
Of  armed  hosts ;  for  this  our  warriors  bled : 
Then  strew  the  sweetest  flowers  on  their  grave. 
Each  hallow'd  name  from  black  oblivion  save. 
You,  who  the  thunder  roll'd,  who  felt  its  rage. 
Thrice  honor'd  chief,'  live  in  our  grateful  page ! 
Is  there  a  man  with  heart  unfeeling  curst, 
Sparing  to  praise,  and  prone  to  think  the  worst ; 
Who,  led  by  sordid  jealousy  astray, 
Can  envy  them  the  tribute  which  I  pay  ? 
If  there  is  one  whose  breast  ne'er  learn'd  to  glow  ' 

At  public  good,  or  feel  for  public  woe  ; 
Who  hears  this  praise  with  a  neglectful  ear, 
Ungrateful  men  !  for  Louis  learn  to  fear. 
The  fiery  torrent,  spreading  as  it  goes, 
Fed  with  new  fuel,  still  more  furious  grows  ; 
Not  winter  inundations,  swell'd  with  rain. 
Not  tides  impetuous  of  the  roaring  main, 
Are  half  so  rapid  in  their  headlong  course. 
Or  headlong  rush  with  such  ungovern'd  force. 
As  the  battalion,  which,  in  close  array. 
Against  our  adverse  legions  took  its  way. 
They  march'd  with  sabres  brandish'd  o'er  their  head. 
And  mark'd  a  passage  by  the  heaps  of  dead  ; 
The  god  of  battle  for  their  side  declared, 

M.  du  Brocard,  brigadier-general,  and  commander  of  the  artillery. 


268  POEM   UPON   THE 

Our  monarch  saw  tlie  danger ;  it  repaired. 
His  son,  his  only  hope  ....  loved  prince,  forbear, 
Where  do  you  haste  ?  is  life  not  worth  your  care  ? 
The  Dauphin's  danger  only  can  inspire 
Louis  with  dread,  the  son '  fears  for  the  sire  : 
For  both  our  warriors  fear ;  that  fear  alone 
Touches  their  hearts,  all  other  jiread's  unknown. 
Guards  of  the  king,*  protectors  brave  of  France, 
Nations  of  heroes,  who  in  crowds  advance. 
Haste  to  the  fight !  'tis  yours  to  fix  our  fate, 
Save  Europe,  save  the  king,  the  prince,  and  State. 
March,  household  troops,  vanquish  without  delay, 
Your  chiefs^  to  certain  conquest  lead  the  way. 
You  hardy  veterans,*  whose  experienced  hands 
Launch  distant  death  on  the  hostile  bands  ; 
Advance,*  you  chosen  troops,  our  army's  boast, 
With  balls  of  fire  annoy  the  adverse  host ! 
Squadrons  of  Louis,  crush  those  haughty  foes  ! 
Courage  like  yours  they're  worthy  to  oppose. 
Richelieu,  who  flies  where'er  the  hosts  engage, 
Valiant  with  knowledge,  and  with  ardor  sage  ; 
Favorite  of  Love,  by  Mars  to  combat  taught, 

»  A  cannon-ball  covered  a  man  with  earth  who  stood  between  the  kinj^ 
and  the  Dauphin  ;  and  a  servant  of  Count  d'Argenson  received  a  shot  of  a 
musket  just  behind  them. 

3  The  king's  guards,  the  gendarmes,  the  light-horse,  the  musketeers, 
commanded  by  Lieutenant-General  de  Montesson,  two  battalions  of  the 
French  and  Swiss  guards,  etc. 

*  The  Prince  of  Soubise  and  Mons.  de  Pecquigny  are  here  named  in  the 
original ;  the  former  undertook  to  second  the  Count  de  la  Marck  in  obsti- 
nately defending  the  post  d' Antoin :  he  afterwards  headeH  the  gendarmes, 
while  M.  de  Pecquigny  headed  the  light-horse,  which  contributed  not  a 
little  to  the  victory. 

*  The  carabineers,  a  corps  established  by  Louis  XIV ;  they  fire  with 
rifled  carabines.  Everybody  knows  what  high  praises  the  king  bestowed 
upon  them  in  his  letter. 

'  The  horse-grenadiers,  commanded  by  the  Chevalier  de  Grille  ;  they 
march  at  the  head  of  the  king's  household  troops. 


BATTLE   OF   FOXTENOY.  269 

By  wisdom's  goddess  to  express  each  thought ; 
He  calls  your  bands  ;^  his  soul,  discerning,  knows 
From  whence  your  enemy's  success  arose. 
Depending  on  your  valor  Kichelieu  flies. 
And  shows  where  you  may  win  the  victor's  prize. 
La  Marck,^  la  Vauguyon,^  chiefs  great  in  fight, 
Valiant  Choiseul,  endow'd  with  matchless  might, 
A  turf  retrenchment's  weak  defence  oppose 
Against  the  fury  of  their  warlike  foes  ; 
Yet  thus  they  stem  the  hostile  torrent's  force, 
And  stay  an  army  in  its  headlong  course. 
D'Argenson,  whom  his  father's  presence  fires. 
Whose  bosom  ardent  zeal  for  France  inspires. 
Struck  with  the  danger  of  the  best  of  kings, 
Excited  by  the  blood  from  whence  he  springs, 
Attack'd  three  times  that  formidable  band. 
Which,  like  a  fiery  rampart,  seem'd  to  stand. 
Stopp'd,  he  undaunted  to  the  charge  returns. 
And  with  redoubled  rage  his  bosom  burns. 
Thus  battering-rams  with  strokes  redoubled  plied 
A  town  whose  ramparts  shook  on  every  side. 
That  brilliant  regiment,  well  known  to  fame,* 
With  which  famed  Catinat  the  foe  o'ercame. 
Came,  saw,  and  fought ;  the  glory  they  had  gain'd, 
More  glory  still  acquiring,  they  maintain'd. 
Young  Castelmoron,  glorious  was  your  part ; 


1  The  Marquis  d'Argenson,  who,  during  the  battle,  never  once  quitted 
the  king,  wrote  to  Voltaire  these  words :  It  was  Mons.  de  Michelieu  who 
gave  this  advice,  and  carried  it  into  execution. 

2  The  Count  de  la  Marck  at  the  post  d' Antoin. 

3  M.  de  la  Vauguyon,  Choiseul-Meuse,  etc.,  at  the  retrenchment  hastily- 
thrown  up  at  the  village  of  Fontenoy.  Mons.  de  Crequi  was  not  at  that 
post,  but  headed  the  carabineers,  as  was  said  above. 

*  Four  squadrons  of  gendarmes  arrived,  after  a  seven  hours'  march,  and 
attacked  the  enemy. 


270  POEM   UPON   TUE 

In  tender  years  you  show'd  a  manly  heart ; 

Ycunr  feeble  arm '  from  the  stern  English  bore 

The  bloody  standard,  which  they  took  before. 

But  Chevrier  falls  a  victim  to  their  ire, 

And  Love  v\rith  sighs  sees  Monaco  expire. 

Ye  English,  twice  du  Guesclin  feels  your  rage ; 

Shrink  at  that  name,  to  you  of  dire  presage. 

What  brilliant  hero,  midst  the  horrid  fray. 

Falls,  and  then  rising,  cuts  himself  a  way  ? 

Biron,"  thy  fathers  upon  Ivry's  plain. 

Thus  fought  great  Henry's  empire  to  maintain. 

Such  Crillon  was,  in  worth  and  rank  supreme, 

Among  the  valiant,  a  distinguished  name ; 

Such  the  D'Auraonts  and  Crequis,  chiefs  renown'd  ; 

The  Montmorency's  still  with  conquest  crown'd  ; 

Heroes  who  brightly  shone  in  former  days. 

The  sons  now  emulate  their  fathers'  praise.^ 

Such  was  Turenne,  who  in  the  field  of  fame 

Was  taught  by  arms  to  win  a  deathless  name. 

Under  another  chief*  of  Saxon  birth, 

Whose  conquering  arm  with  terror  shook  the  earth, 

When,  in  another  Louis'  glorious  days, 

Justice  and  Mars  at  once  conspired  to  raise 

Gallia  to  grandeur  hitherto  unknown. 


1  A  mettlesome  horse  had  hurried  the  ensign  into  the  English  battalion. 
Mons.  de  Castelmoron,  who  was  then  but  fifteen  years  of  age,  accompanied 
with  four  more,  went  and  retook  it  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy's  camp, 
Mons.  de  Bellet  commanded  the  squadrons  of  the  gendarmes  ;  he  had  a 
horse  killed  under  him.  The  same  accident  happened  to  Mons.  de  Chi- 
menes,  while  he  was  reforming  a  brigade. 

2  The  Duke  de  Biron  commanded  the  infantry,  when  M.  de  Luttcaux 
fell ;  he  charged  successively  at  the  head  of  almost  all  the  brigades. 

»  M.  de  Luxembourg,  M.  de  Logni,  and  M.  de  Tingry. 

*  The  Duke  of  Saxe-Weimar,  under  whom  the  Viscount  de  Turenne 
made  his  first  campaigns.  M.  de  Turenne  is  the  great-grand-nephew  of 
that  great  man. 


BATTLE   OF   FONTENOY.  271 

And  make  proud  Austria  for  lier  crimes  atone. 

Can  polish'd  courtiers,  used  to  soft  deliglit, 

Thus  rush  like  lions  furious  to  the  fight  ? 

How  grace  and  valor  happily  combine  ! 

How  Boufflers,  Meuse,  d'Ayen,  and  Duras  shine ! 

At  Louis'  voice  intrepid  troops  advance  ; 

Led  by  their  king,  how  great  the  sons  of  France  ! 

They'll  surely  conquer,  headed  by  their  sire ! 

No  headlong  instinct  does  his  soul  inspire  ; 

Free  from  all  passion,  he,  with  mind  serene, 

Can  o'er  himself  and  over  fortune  reign  ; 

His  vigilance  can  suffer  no  surprise, 

No  error  cast  a  mist  before  his  eyes ; 

He  marches  like  the  cloud-compelling  sire, 

Hurling  at  Titans  heaven's  vindictive  fire, 

Whose  boisterous  rage  he  guided  by  a  nod. 

And  in  the  storm  with  brow  unruffled  trod. 

He  marches  thus ;  beneath  his  hosts  the  ground 

Groans,  and  the  noise  is  echo'd  all  around ; 

The  ocean  roars,  the  Scheldt  its  fountain's  head 

Astonish'd  seeks  ;  with  darkness  heaven's  o'erspread. 

Beneath  a  cloud,  which,  with  a  hideous  roar. 

From  northern  caves  the  winds  impetuous  bore, 

The  Valois'  conquerors  enraged  descend. 

"  On  you,  great  duke,"  ^  they  cried,  "  we  all  depend ; 

Rally  your  hardy  legions  to  the  fight. 

Batavians  !  guard  your  barriers  and  your  right. 

Since  peace,  ye  English  !  fills  you  with  alarms, 

Against  a  king  who  loves  it  turn  your  arms  ; 

Will  you  his  valor  as  his  friendship  fear  ?" 

In  vain  they  urge,  for  Louis  soon  draws  near. 

Their  genius  fails,  the  English  lose  the  field, 

1  The  Duke  of  Cumberland. 


272  roEM  UPON  the 

Ferocious  rage'  to  valor  has  to  yield. 
The  valiant  Clare,  who  heads  Ilibernia's  powers, 
At  once  defends  his  country's  cause  and  ours. 
Happy  Helvetians,^  faithful  race,  and  sage, 
With  France  united  during  many  an  age, 
Drawn  up  in  close  compacted  firm  array. 
Ye  follow  where  fierce  Neustrians'  lead  the  way. 
That  Dane,^  that  hero  of  immortal  fame, 
Who  from  the  frozen  north  to  Gallia  came, 
Beholds  our  nation  with  astonish'd  eyes, 
When  suddenly  he  hears  a  thousand  cries : 
"  Or  die !  or  to  our  force  superior  yield !" 
Louis  at  length  has  won  the  bloody  field. 
Go,  brave  d'Estree,*  the  mighty  work  complete ! 
Go,  chain  the  foes  who  have  escaped  from  Fate  I 
Let  them  implore  his  aid  whom  they  defied : 
To  yield  to  him  will  scarce  abate  their  pride.^ 
Swift  after  them  these  rapid  warriors  ride, 
Who  like  the  dragon,'  formerly  their  guide, 
Are  prompt  to  fight  on  foot,  or  urge  the  steed 
Against  the  foe,  and  noted  for  their  speed. 


J  This  reproach  of  ferocity  is  levelled  at  the  soldiers  alone,  not  at  the 
officers,  who  are  as  generous  as  ours.  I  have  been  informed  by  letter, 
that  when  the  English  battalion  filed  off  from  Fontenoy,  many  of  the  sol  - 
diers  belonging  to  that  body  cried  out,  "  No  quarter." 

"  The  regiments  of  Diesbach,  Betens,  Courten,  etc.,  with  battalions  of 
the  Swiss  guards. 

s  The  Norman  regiment,  which  charged  the  English  battalion  a  second 
time,  at  the  same  time  that  the  household  troops,  the  gendarmes,  the 
carabineers,  etc.,  poured  down  upon  it. 

*  M.  de  Lowenthal. 

»  The  Count  d'Estrde,  at  the  head  of  his  division,  and  M.  dc  Brionne, 
at  the  head  of  his  regiment,  had  forced  the  English  grenadiers  sword  in 
hand. 

«  Since  the  reign  of  St.  Louis,  no  king  of  France  had  in  person  defeated 
the  English  in  a  pitched  battle. 

"*  Some  troops  of  dragoons  were  sent  in  pursuit  of  the  enemy :  that  corps 
was  commanded  by  the  Duke  de  Chevreuse,  who  had  distinguished  him- 


BATTLE   OF   FONTENOY.  273 

Thus  in  Numidia's  plains,  with  rapid  race, 
Intrepid  bands  of  hunters  urge  the  chase  ; 
Across  the  field  the  foaming  coursers  bound, 
They  climb  the  hills,  the  forests  they  surround ; 
The  snares  are  spread,  the  hunters  watch  with  care, 
And  balls  and  pointed  javelins  pierce  the  air ; 
With  wounds  the  bloody  leopards  cover'd  o'er. 
Make  the  wide  forests  echo  with  their  roar ; 
Then  to  some  shady  wood's  recess  repair, 
To  hide  their  rage,  and  howl  in  secret  there. 
Enough  our  foes  as  well  as  friends  have  bled. 
Too  long  you  walk  on  mountains  of  the  dead. 
Noailles,'  retire  with  your  triumphant  bands ! 
Mars,  overjoy'd,  sees  their  victorious  hands 
Draw  to  our  camp  those  tubes  for  ruin  framed. 
Whose  thunder  at  our  heads  so  long  was  aim'd. 
Come,  turn  against  the  foe  their  hostile  balls. 
And  with  them  batter  Tournay's  lofty  w^alls ; 
Tournay,  now  Holland's  barrier  and  retreat. 
Which  was  of  Gallic  monarchs  once  the  seat.^ 
Tournay  surrenders,  terrors  Ghent'  invade; 
Disturbed  and  restless,  the  fifth  Charles'  ■*  shade 
Loud  crying  flies  the  city  in  its  strait. 


self  in  the  light  at  Siihy,  where  he  had  received  three  wounds.  The  most 
probable  opinion  with  regard  to  the  etymology  of  the  word  dragoon  is, 
that  thef  e  was  the  figure  of  a  dragon  upon  their  standards  in  the  time  of  the 
Marshal  de  Brissac,  who  raised  that  corps  during  the  wars  of  Piedmont. 

1  The  Count  de  Noailles  attacked  the  battalion  of  English  infantry  with 
a  brigade  of  horse,  which  afterwards  took  their  artillery. 

2  Tournay  was  the  principal  city  belonging  to  the  French  under  the  first 
race  of  their  kings.     The  tomb  of  Childeric  was  found  there. 

3  The  city  of  Ghent  was  surrendered  to  his  Majesty  on  the  11th  of  July, 
after  Monsieur  du  Chaila,  at  the  head  of  the  brigades  of  Crillon  and  Nor- 
mandy, the  regiment  of  Grassin,  etc.,  had  defeated  a  body  of  English. 

*  Charles  the  Fifth  was  born  at  Tournay  in  the  year  1500,  on  the  25th  of 
February.  Philip,  archduke  of  Austria,  was  his  father,  and  Joan  of  Cas- 
tile, heiress  to  the  crown  of  Spain,  his  mother. 

120 


274  POEM — BATTLE  OF  FONTENOY. 

Where  he  was  born  to  be  by  conquest  great. 

He  flies,  but  what  beholds  the  frighted  ghost  ? 

Those  spacious  plains  all  cover'd  by  our  host. 

Routed  and  broke  he  sees  the  English  bands, 

Leaving  their  standards  in  our  soldiers  hands ; 

The  Dutch  in  vain  retiring  from  the  stroke, 

While  on  the  ground  Ghent's,  ruin'd  ramparts  smoke, 

The  place  that  gave  the  first  of  Caesars*  birth, 

By  Louis'  car  triumphant  crush'd  to  earth. 

Ostend,*^  which  erst  for  three  long  years  had  braved 

A  hundred  fierce  assaults,  now  humbly  craved. 

Our  monarch's  mercy,  ere  ten  days  had  shone, 

And  Albion  shudder'd  on  her  sea-girt  throne. 

O  happy  Franks,  ye  victors  mild  and  brave. 

Come  and  rear  high  within  the  peaceful  nave, 

Arms,  standards,  trophies  of  that  day  of  fire. 

And  let  your  victors'  chant  our  chant  inspire. 

Ye  warriors  brave,  who  emulate  your  king. 

The  hero  to  his  grateful  people  bring ; 

Palms  in  their  hands,  your  fellow-subjects  bum 

For  your  long-wish'd-for,  prosperous  return ; 

Your  wives  and  children,  for  your  past  distress 

And  danger  terrified,  around  you  press. 

They  haste  with  ardor  to  your  loved  embrace, 

With  tears  of  joy  to  bathe  each  manly  face. 

Your  wish'd  return  no  longer  then  delay. 

Kind  love  prepares  the  prize  of  worth  to  pay.         • 

»  Of  the  modem  Caesars,  i.  e.,  the  emperors  of  Germany. 
'  It  was  taken  in  1604  by  Ambrose  Spinola,  after  a  siege  of  three  years 
and  three  months. 


POETICAL   DISSERTATIOI^S. 


POETICAL  DISSERTATIONS. 


DISSERTATION  I. 

UPON    THE     EQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS. 

Thy  eye,  Aristo,  calmly  can  behold 
Tyrannic  greatness,  or  mere  pride  of  gold  ; 
No  dazzling  tinsel  captivates  thy  eye  ; 
This  world  is  but  a  ball,  where  fools  can  vie, 
Mask'd  in  the  titles  void  of  Church  and  State, 
Their  being  to  expand  and  littleness  make  great. 
In  vain  doth  vanity  in  garb  surprise, 
/Men  are  alike ;  the  masks  confuse  our  eyes  ; 
/These  senses  five,  weak  gifts  of  nature's  hand, 
Of  good  and  evil,  as  our  measures  stand  : 
Have  monarchs  six,  or  body  have  and  mind, 


1  Tlie  first  three  Dissertations  are  of  the  year  1734 ;  the  last  four  are  of 
the  year  1737. 

The  first  proves  the  equality  of  conditions — that  is,  that  in  each  profes- 
sion there  is  a  measure  of  good  and  evil  that  renders  them  all  equal. 

The  second,  that  man  is  free,  and,  consequently,  dependent  on  himself 
for  happiness. 

The  third,  that  the  greatest  obstacle  to  happiness  is  envy. 

The  fourth,  that  in  order  to  be  happy,  it  is  necessary  to  be  moderate  in 
all  things. 

The  fifth,  that  pleasure  comes  from  God. 

The  sixth,  that  perfect  happiness  cannot  be  the  portion  of  man  in  this 
world,  and  that  man  has  no  reason  for  complaining  of  his  condition. 

The  seventh,  that  virtue  consists  in  doing  good  to  our  fellow-beings, 
and  not  in  vain  practices  of  mortification. 


278  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Form'd  in  auother  mould,  work  of  anotlier  kind  ? 
From  the  same  slime  we  all  must  claim  our  race, 
In  the  same  weakness,  childhood  drags  apace, 
The  rich,  the  poor,  the  feeble,  and  the  strong 
To  death,  from  sorrows  haste  them  all  along. 

"  Hold !"  you  exclaim,  "  what  error  fills  your  breast ! 

Is  no  state,  then,  beyond  another  blest  ? 

Does  Heaven  make  all  level  in  this  life  ? 

Is  the  pale  clerk's  poor  self-denying  wife 

Equal  to  her  who  fills  the  royal  throne  ? 

Is  it  the  same,  the  world  or  naught  to  own  ? 

Now,  for  a  priest,  is  it  not  a  happier  fate 

To  clap  a  scarlet  cap  upon  his  pate. 

Than  after  morn,  or  after  evening  prayer. 

To  expose  to  discipline  his  shoulders  bare  ? 

In  triple  bonnet,  sure  more  blest  the  judge, 

Than  is  the  clerk,  in  office  doora'd  to  drudge. 

God's  justice,  nature's  laws,  this  rule  oppose  ; 

Her  gifts  she  with  more  equity  bestows. 

Think  you  she'll  ever  be  so  partial  found 

As  to  have  bliss  to  fortune's  chariot  bound  ? 

A  colonel  oft  will  impudently  try 

In  pleasures  e'en  a  marshal  to  outvie.   * 
*     "  Blest  as  a  king,"  the  ignorant  vulgar  say ; 

Yet  monarchs  dearly  for  their  grandeur  pay. 
:  Vain  confidence  a  king  puts  in  his  throne, 
j  For  grief  and  spleen  to  greatness'  self  are  known. 
'  Heaven  must  to  all  the  same  attention  pay. 

Mankind  it  form'd  all  of  one  common  clay. 

Let's  own  that  Heaven  is-jnst,~a"S"^tvi5li  as  kmd, 

It  has  a  birthright  to  each  child  assign'd : 

Some  crop  must  still  be  reap'd  from  earth's  worst  spot, 

He's  disinherited  who  mourns  his  lot. 


EQUALITY   OF   CONDITIONS.  279 

Let's  without  pride  possess ;  let's  bear  with  grace, 

Since  'twas  by  God  assign'd  our  earthly  place. 

God  meant,  arranging  sublunary  things,       \ 

To  make  us  happy,  not  to  make  us  kings.  / 

Before  Pandora,  if  we  credit  Fame, 

We  all  were  equal ;  ]^.are-.£iilLilie^ame. 

To  have  an  equal  title  to  be  blest, 

Puts  each  upon  a  level  with  the  rest. 

Those  slaves  in  yonder  valley  dost  thou  see. 

Who  cut  a  craggy  rock,  or  lop  a  tree ; 

Who  turn  the  course  of  streams ;  who  with  a  spade 

The  entrails  of  the  fertile  earth  invade  : 

We  do  not  find  that  model  in  those  plains 

On  which  were  formed  Fontenelle's  soft  swains. 

There  Timarette  and  Tyrcis  are  not  found 

Beneath  a  myrtle  shade,  with  chaplets  crown'd,  /  ,^ 

Graving  upon  the  oaken  bark  their  names,  l» 

And  ever  talking  of  their  amorous  flames. 

But  some  rough  carle,  endued  with  stubborn  heart, 

Who  knows  through  mire  to  drive  the  loaded  cart : 

Soon  as  Aurora  streaks  the  russet  skies, 

Pierre  and  his  wife  from  bed  are  forced  to  rise. 

They  pant,  with  dust  I  see  them  cover'd  o'er ; 

Each  day  they  labor  as  the  day  before ; 

By  toil  to  cold  and  heat  alike  inured,  *   * 

Both  are  by  them  with  equal  ease  endured  : 

And  yet  they  sing  in  rude  tone,  without  note. 

Ballads  which,  long  ago,  Pellegrin '  wrote. 

Strength,  health,  sound  sleep,  the  mind's  serene  repose, 

To  poverty  and  toil  the  laborer  owes. 

No  joy  at  Paris  gay  can  Colin  find. 


1  The  Abbe  Pellegrin  wrote  devotional  hymns  to  the  airs  of  the  Pont- 
Neuf.    These  hymns  were  sung  in  the  fields  and  in  the  provincial  convents. 


280  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

•    '.    ■•    ■*"♦--■■ 

His-ears'ai-e'deafen'd,  uninforin'd  his  mind  : 
^  No  joy  its  splendor  to  the  rustic  yields ; 
He  overlooks  it,  and  regrets  his  fields. 
Love's  voice  excites  him  thither  to  repair, 
While  Damis,  running  still  from  fair  to  fair, 
In  proud  apartments  lolls  at  careless  ease ; 
Intrigue  his  business,  his  desire  to  please, — 
By^his  wife  hated,  dupedjby  his  kept  dame, 
To  every  beauty  tells  his  amorous  flame  ; 
Quits  Egle's  arms  for  Chloris  coy,  who  flies. 
And  thinks  all  joy  in  noise  and  scandal  lies. 
The  vigorous,  faithful  Colin,  on  love's  wing 
Flies  to  Lisette  with  return  of  spring. 
Returning  in  three  months,  the  rustic  swain 
Makes  presents,  simple  like  himself,  and  plain : 
He  does  not  bring  those  trinkets,  rich  and  rare, 
AVhich  Hebert '  sells  to  the  deluded  fair. 
"Without  these  trifles  he  secures  his  joys ; 
He  wants  them  not,  they  are  the  happy's  toys. 
The  rapid  eagle  through  the  yielding  skies 
After  his  paramour  with  ardor  flies. 
The  bull  the  heifer  seeks  with  many  a  bound, 
His  lowing  love  makes  all  the  vale  resound. 
Sweet  Philomel,  soon  as  the  flowers  appear. 
Delights  with  songs  his  loved  companion's  ear. 
Forth  from  the  bushes  darts  the  buzzing  fly. 
Meets  insects,  and  engenders  in  the  sky ; 
To  exist,  of  all  their  wishes  is  the  bound. 
They  grieve  not  others  are  more  perfect  found. 
What  need  I  care  while  in  my  present  state 
That  other  beings  have  a  happier  fate  ? 


»  A  famous  dealer  in  fancy  articles  at  Paris.     He  had  much  taste,  and 
this  alone  procured  for  him  a  great  fortune. 


EQUALITY    OF   CONDITIONS.  281 

But  can  that  wretcli  -svho  lies  upon 

Object  at  once  of  pity  and  disgust, 

That  breathing  skeleton  with  woes  oppress'd, 

Who  lives  to  suffer,  say,  can  he  be  bless'd  ? 

No.     But  can  Thamas,  by  a  slave  deposed, 

A  vizier  in  disgrace,  a  prince  opposed, 

Be  happy  deem'd  ?    When  once  they're  cast  in  chains, 

A  sad  remembrance  of  their  state  remains. 

Each  state  its  ills,  its  disappointments,  knows. 

MfliT^R  pffl'^^  i^  vflTip.dj  vfl,Ti(>ns  are  his  woes. 

Less  bold  in  peace,  more  active  in  the  fight, 

Charles  had  in  England  e'er  maintain'd  his  right. 

And  had  Dufresny^  lavish'd  less  his  go^d. 

He  had  not  died  in  misery  untold. 

'Tis  all  the  same  :  the  court  has  its  fatigues, 

The  Church  its  combats,  war  has  its  intrigues. 

Too  oft  true  merit  lurks  behind  a  screen ; 

Evil  -abounds,  but  bliss  is  often  seen. 

Nor  youth,  nor  age,  nor  poverty,  nor  wealth, 

Can  e'er  restore  the  wounded  soul  to  health. 

Irus  of  old,  of  poverty  ashamed. 

Loud  against  Croesus'  opulence  declaim'd  : 

"  Honor  and  Avealth  by  Croesus  are  possess'd," 

Cried  he,  "  and  only  I  remain  unbless'd." 

While  thus  he  spoke,  while  thus  his  rage  prevail'd, 

The  Carian  king  an  armed  host  assail'd. 

Of  all  his  courtly  train  not  one  remains. 

In  fight  he's  taken,  and  he's  cast  in  chains ; 

His  treasure's  lost,  his  mistress  from  him  torn : 

He  weeps,  but  sees  when  lost  and  quite  forlorn 


»  Louis  XIV  said :  "  There  are  two  men  whom  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
enrich,  Dufresny  and  Bontemps."  Dufresny  died  in  misery,  after  having? 
dissipated  great  riches ;  he  left  some  pretty  comedies. 


282  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Irus,  poor  Irus,  who,  the  combat  o'er, 
Drinks  with  the  victors,  thinks  of  Avar  no  more. 
"  O  Jove,"  cxclaim'd  he,  "  Irus  knows  the  worst ; 
Irus  is  happy,  I  alone  am  curst." 
Mistaken  both,  they  should  contention  fly , 
IHe  errs,  who  sees  a  man  with  envious  eye : 
External  lustre  fills  us  with  surprise ; 
But  man's  a  mystery  to  human  eyes. 
All  joy  is  transient,  mirth  must  have  an  end ; 
Whither  do  then  the  cares  of  mortals  tend  ? 
In  every  clime  dwells  happiness  sincere, 
'Tis  nowhere  to  be  found,  or  everywhere  : 
Nowhere  entire,  but  everywhere  the  same ; 
In  God  alone  exhaustless  is  the  flame : 
'Tis  like  the  gentle  fires  by  heaven  fed, 
That  everywhere  their  happy  influence  shed. 
That  mount  the  clouds,  descend  to  rocks  below 
In  ocean's  depths  impart  the  diamond's  glow, 
That  mid  the  North's  eternal  glaciers  live, 
Jtnd  in  Death's  regions  dark,  new  being  give. 
/  In  what'er  state  thou'rt  born,  O  mortal,  still, 
!  Resign'd,  submit  to  thy  Creator's  will. 


DISSEETATION  II. 


UPON   LIBERTY. 


By  this  word  Liberty  we  understand  the  power  of  doing  what  we  please. 
There  is,  and  there  can  be  no  other  Liberty.  Locke  has  well  defined  its 
power. 

In  transient  life,  whicli  some  few  years  comprise, 
If  happiness  must  be  true  wisdom's  prize, 
Who  shall  to  mc  this  sacred  treasure  send  ? 
Does  it  upon  myself  or  heaven  depend  ? 
Is  it  like  wit,  like  beauty,  and  high  birth, 
A  lot  no  prudence  can  acquire  on  earth  ? 
Say,  am  I  free,  or  do  my  limbs  and  soul 
Some  other  agent's  secret  springs  control  ? 
Is  will,  which  ever  hurries  me  away, 
Slave  to  the  soul,  or  bears  she  sovereign  sway  ? 
Plunged  in  this  doubt,  and  sighing  for  relief, 
I  raised  to  heaven  my  eyes  obscured  with  grief. 
One  of  those  spirits  placed  besides  God's  throne, 
To  learn  and  make  his  will  to  mortals  known, 
Who  in  him  live,  fed  by  the  ethereal  flame. 
Now  left  his  blest  abode  and  earthward  came. 
And  oft,  by  grace,  these  sons  of  light  are  sent 
To  free  the  soul  in  Error's  bondage  pent. 
And  banish  doctors,  who  in  silly  pride. 
So  boastfully  in  musty  books  confide  ; 
Who,  all  elate,  and  of  their  system  vain. 
Mistake  for  truth  the  phantom  of  their  brain. 
"  Behold  me  here,"  said  he,  "  in  mercy  sent 


284  POETICAL    DISSERTATIONS. 

To  bring  thee  wisdom,  peace,  and  sweet  content. 

What  thou  would'st  learn,  to  me  'tis  joy  to  show, 

For  he  who  dares  to  doubt,  deserves  to  know. 

Learn,  then,  that  thou  and  all  the  sons  of  earth, 

Are  free  as  beings  of  celestial  birth. 

Freedom  of  will  in  the  immortal  man 

Bestows  true  life ;  such  freedom  only  can. 

Freedom  to  will,  as  well  as  to  design. 

Stamps  us  God's  own,  and  makes  us  heirs  divine. 

His  word  hath  form'd  the  heaven,  earth,  and  seas ; 

The  body,  thus,  the  will's  command  obeys. 

Sovereign  on  earth,  and  strong  by  means  of  thought, 

Nature  by  thee  is  to  thy  purpose  brought ; 

The  zephyr  thou  command'st,  the  roaring  main ; 

Thou  canst  thy  will  and  e'en  desires  restrain. 

Of  liberty  if  we  the  soul  divest, 

What  is  it  ?     'Tis  a  subtle  flame  at  best. 

Were  we  deprived  once  of  the  power  to  choose. 

We  should,  in  fact,  our  very  being  lose ; 

Machines  we  should  be  by  the  Almighty  wrought : 

Curious  automata  endow'd  with  thought. 

We  should  delusion  suflfer  every  hour. 

Tools  of  the  Deity's  deceitful  power. 

Could  man,  not  free,  God's  image  be  estecm'd  ? 

And  such  as  he,  be  profitable  deem'd  ? 

Sure,  he  could  neither  please  or  give  offence ; 

And  could  God  punish  him,  or  recompense  ? 

Justice  in  heaven  and  earth  must  cease  to  dwell ; 

Desfontaines  is  nor  bad,  nor  good,  Pucelle.^ 

Fate's  impulse  actuates  each  human  breast. 

And  the  world's  chaos  is  by  vice  possess'd. 

'  The  Abbe  Pucelle,  a  celebrated  councillor  of  parliament.  The  Abbe 
Desfontaines,  a  man  who  often  incurred  the  censure  of  the  law.  He  kept 
open  shop,  where  he  sold  panegyric  and  satire  to  those  that  bid  highest. 


LIBERTY. 


285 


The  proud  oppressor,  miser,  hard  of  heart, 

Cartouche,  Miriwits,  skill'd  in  fraudful  art ; 

The  slanderer  more  criminal  than  all, 

"  May  God  the  causer  of  his  baseness  call : 

If  I  am  perjured,  'tis  by  his  command, 

He  plunders,  robs,  and  murders  by  my  hand." 

'Tis  thus  the  God  who  first  ordain'd  all  laws, 

Is  made  of  horrors  and  black  crimes  the  cause. 

Could  those  who  such  a  dogma  dire  maintain, 

Speak  of  the  devil's  self  in  blacker  strain  ? 

Surprise  seized  on  me,  as  on  one  at  night 

Who  wakes  surprised  to  see  a  sudden  light, 

While  yet  a  heavy  and  half-open'd  eye 

With  difficulty  can  the  light  descry. 

I  answer'd,  "  Can  it,  heavenly  spirit,  be 

That  mortal  man's  so  weak  while  he  is  free  ? 

Why  cannot  reason's  torch  direct  his  way  ? 

He  follows  it,  yet  often  goes  astray. 

Why  should  this  paragon  so  wise  and  brave, 

Be  always  thus  to  vice  an  abject  slave  ?" 

This  answer  straight  return'd  the  spirit  kind : 

"  What  groundless  grief  has  thus  o'erwhelm'd  your  mind  ? 

Sometimes  is  Liberty  impair'd  in  you, 

But  was  eternal  liberty  your  due  ? 

Should  it  be  equal  in  each  time  and  state 

You'd  be  a  God ;  to  be  a  man's  your  fate. 

Shall  one  drop  in  the  vast  unbounded  sea 

Exclaim,  immensity  was  made  for  me  ? 

No,  all  is  weak  in  thee,  to  change  inclined : 

Thy  beauty,  strength,  the  talents  of  thy  mind. 

All  nature  has  its  limits  fix'd,  we  know ; 

Shall  then  man's  power  be  boundless  here  below  ? 

But  when  your  heart,  which  various  passions  sway, 

To  their  strong  impulse  overpower'd,  gives  way ; 


286  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

When  to  their  force  you  find  your  free-will  bend, 
You  had  it  sure,  since  you  perceive  it  end. 
Whene'er  you  feel  the  burning  fever's  flame 
Destined,  in  time,  to  undermine  your  frame, 
But  which  no  dire  result,  at  present,  brings, 
Though  slowly  wearing  out  life's  feeble  springs, 
You're  sure  to  turn  from  death's  half-open'd  gate 
More  healthy,  temperate,  and  far  more  sedate ; 
And  find,  as  you  your  rights  more  strictly  scan, 
That  liberty  of  soul  is  health  in  man. 
Sometimes  its  efiicacy  may  subside, 
Subdued  by  rage,  ambition,  love,  or  pride. 
The  thirst  of  knowledge  may  its  power  control, 
For  foes  there  are  by  thousands  of  the  soul. 
But  you  against  them  may  yourself  defend : 
Open  this  book,  consult  that  learned  friend 
(A  friend's  the  gift  of  heaven,  a  blessing  rare), 
These  the  soul's  Silvas  and  Helvetius '  are — 
May  heaven,  when  men  are  into  vice  betray'd, 
Send  such  efficient  helpers  to  their  aid. 
Is  there  that  idiot  among  human  kind 
Who  wishes  not  in  danger  aid  to  find  ? 
Behold  the  mortal  who  free-will  arraigns, 
And  blindly  a  blind  destiny  maintains ; 
See  how  he  ponders,  weighs,  deliberates ; 
See  how  he  loads  with  blame  the  man  he  hates : 
IIow  he  seeks  vengeance  when  with  passion  warm ; 
How  he  corrects  his  son  and  would  reform. 
By  this  'tis  evident  he  thought  him  free ; 
His  system  and  his  actions  disagree. 
He  owns  the  sentiment  he  seems  to  brave ; 
He  acts  as  free,  discourses  as  a  slave. 

1  Famous  physicians  of  Paris. 


LIBERTY.  287 

Since  free,  thank  God,  wlio  freedom  did  bestow, 
1/0  liim  the  bliss  that  makes  you  blest,  you  owe ; 
Avoid  with  caution  all  the  vain  contest 
Of  those  that  tyrannize  the  human  breast ; 
Firm  in  thy  principles,  and  just  in  heart. 
Error  compassionate,  with  truth  take  part. 
Do  not  to  zeal's  suggestions  fierce  give  way, 
He  is  a  brother  who  is  led  astray ; 
To  be  humane,  as  well  as  prudent,  strive ; 
From  others'  bliss  thy  happiness  derive." 
The  angel's  words  resounding  in  my  ear, 
My  mind  was  raised  above  this  bounded  sphere ; 
I  had  inquired,  at  length  presumptuous  grown, 
Of  things  reveal'd  to  heavenly  minds  alone  : 
Of  spirit  pure,  of  matter,  light,  and  space 
The  elastic  spring,  eternity,  time's  race  : 
Strange  questions,  which  so  frequently  confound 
Mairan  the  subtle,  Gravesande '  the  profound. 
And  which  Descartes  in  vain  strove  to  explore, 
Whose  vortices  are  now  believed  no  more. 
But  then  the  spirit  vanish'd  from  my  sight, 
And  sought  the  regions  of  eternal  light. 
He  was  not  sent  me  from  the  ethereal  sky, 
To  teach  the  secrets  deep  of  the  Most  High  : 
My  eyes  by  too  great  light  had  been  opprest, 
He  said  enough,  in  saying,  man,  be  blest ! 

1  Gravesande,  professor  at  Leiden ;  the  first  who  tanght  Newton's  dis- 
coveries. M.  Dortous  de  Mairan,  secretary  to  the  Academy  of  Sciences  at 
Paris. 


DISSERTATION  III. 

UPON    ENVY. 

If  man  is  free,  he  o'er  himself  should  reign, 
Attack'd  by  tyrants,  should  their  rage  restrain. 
Vices  are  tyrants  of  the  human  mind. 
And  we  no  vice  more  fierce  and  cruel  find ; 
None  more  capricious,  furious,  and  more  base ; 
None  which  all  goodness  does  so  much  eff'ace ; 
None  which  envenoms  more  the  human  breast, 
Or  with  dire  rankling  does  so  much  infest ; 
Whose  fierce  attacks  'tis  harder  to  control, 
Than  Envy,  the  tormentor  of  the  soul. 
Of  Pride  and  Folly,  Envy  is  the  child. 
Stubborn,  perverse,  un teachable,  and  wild  : 
Though  sprung  from  pride,  he,  to  appear,  declines ; 
At  others,  shining  merit  he  repines  : 
And  like  the  giant,  whom  great  Jove,  in  ire, 
O'erwhelm'd  with  whirlwinds  of  tempestuous  fire ; 
Who,  while  he  panting  lay,  and  raved  below, 
Strove  to  hurl  back  the  flames  against  his  foe. 
At  length  he  raved,  imprison'd  under  ground, 
And  efibrts  made  to  shake  earth's  pits  profound ; 
Heaved  against  JEtna,  which  his  bosom  press'd ; 
-^tna  fell  back,  he  was  again  oppress'd. 
I  oft  have  courtiers  known,  the  dupes  of  fame, 
Ready  to  burst  at  Yillars'  glorious  name. 
The  arm  they  hated,  which  in  fight  prevail'd ; 
13 


290  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

He  fought  for  them,  and  they  against  him  lail'd. 

Justly  a  hero  once  to  Louis  said, 

Taking  tlie  field,  "  Versailles  alone  I  dread  : 

Defend  me  from  my  countrymen,  I  go 

Fearless  in  distant  realms  to  fight  the  foe." 

What  anguish  feels  the  mind  from  envy's  blast  ? 

In  public  joy  it  is  with  grief  o'ercast. 

Ye  tasteless  guests,  to  you  fine  food  seems  vile ; 

To  poison  'tis  converted  by  the  bile. 

Oh,  ye  who  take  the  road  that  leads  to  fame, 

Must  none  besides  you  travel  in  the  same  ? 

Must  each  competitor  incur  your  hate  ? 

Would  you  those  Eastern  monarchs  emulate. 

Who  make  the  slavish  Asiatics  groan, 

And  cannot  bear  a  brother  near  the  tlirone  ? 

When  at  the  play-house  some  enticing  bill 

Makes  love  of  novelty  the  play-house  fill ; 

When  in  Alzira  or  Zenobia's  part, 

Pathetic  Gaussin  touches  every  heart ; 

Or  when  Dufresne^  like  thunder  shakes  the  stage, 

In  acting  Orasmancs'  jealous  rage. 

Tears  at  each  stroke  bedew  the  hearer's  eyes. 

Tears  which  from  truest  siitisfaction  rise : 

The  jealous  Rufus  hangs  his  drooping  head. 

Their  joy  constrains  him  tears  of  rage  to  shed. 

If  this  distinction  frail,  O  wretch  forlorn ! 

If  others'  bliss  thy  envious  heart  has  torn. 

Of  this  vexation  try  thyself  to  avail. 

And  strive,  by  dint  of  merit,  to  prevail. 

The  Haughty  Man^  draws  crowds  on  every  night; 


»  Dufresne,  a  celebrated  actor  at  Paris ;  Mademoiselle  Ganssin,  a  very- 
graceful  actress,  who  played  Zaire  the  first  time  the  tragedy  of  that  name 
was  represented. 

9  Le  Glorieuz^  a  comedy  of  Mons.  Destouches. 


ENVY.  291 

Does  this  afflict  thee  ?     Better  strive  to  write. 

But  if  to  please  the  audience  you  intend, 

No  more  capricious  Sires '  to  Paris  send  ; 

Nor  set  each  odious  face  the  fool  to  play, 

In  coarsest  colors  robb'd  from  Rabelais. 

The  burlesque  writer  few  know  how  to  bear, 

Whose  modern  muse  assumes  a  Gothic  air. 

And  in  some  verse,  which  antique  guise  displays, 

Conceals  his  dulness  by  old  Marot's  phrase. 

This  style  I  would  not  in  a  tale  reject, 

But  truth  requires  a  tone  of  more  respect. 

A  sinner  wouldst  thou  to  repentance  call  ? 

Bigot,  mix  honey  with  thy  sermon's  gall  : 

Assuming  the  instructor's  arduous  task, 

Thou  ape  of  virtue,  take  a  better  mask  : 

If  rival  of  some  eminent  divine. 

Envy  him  not ;  endeavor  to  outshine  ; 

Raise  higher  trophies  to  make  his  seem  low  : 

Orpheus  alone  should  dare  to  hiss  Rameau ; 

Venus  to  criticise  is  Psyche's  right ; 

Biit  why  should  we  in  censure  thus  delight  ? 

No  beauty  she  acquires  who  blames  a  face ; 

Was  Bayle  e'er  hurt  by  the  caballing  race  ? 

Though  furious  Jurieu  aim'd  prophetic  lies 

At  Bayle,  he's  still  respected  by  the  wise : 

Fanatic  Jurieu,^  who  'gainst  Bayle  declaim'd, 


1  Les  dieux  cliimeriques  was  a  comedy  of  Eousseau's,  wliicli  so  disgusted 
the  audience  that  they  would  not  suffer  it  to  be  acted  through. 

2  Jurieu  was  a  Protestant  minister,  who  raved  at  Bayle  and  good  sense  ; 
he  wrote  like  a  fool,  and  counterfeited  the  prophet.  He  foretold  that 
France  should  undergo  revolutions  which  never  happened.  It  is  univer- 
sally known  that  Bayle  was  one  of  the  greatest  men  that  France  ever  pro- 
duced. The  parliament  of  Toulouse  showed  him  a  great  mark  of  distinc- 
tion in  ratifying  his  will,  which,  according  to  strict  law,  should  have  been 
set  aside,  as  that  of  a  Huguenot ;  it  was.declared  valid,  as  the  will  of  a 


292  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Is  by  the  public  witli  abhorrence  named. 

An  author  often  prostitutes  his  art, 

Descending  to  the  slanderer's  low  part. 

He  helps  the  levees  of  the  great  to  fill, 

Still  ready  his  vile  malice  to  distil : 

Impiety's  reproach  he  casts  on  all 

Whoe'er  maintains  this  planet  is  a  ball, 

Or  says  that  the  ecliptic  with  the  line 

An  angle  makes  ;  they  have  some  curs'd  design. 

Malebranche  is  Spinosist,  and  Locke's  Essay, 

With  Epicurus'  errors,  leads  astray. 

Pope  is  a  reprobate,  whose  impious  pen 

Presumes  to  show  God's  clemency  to  men  ; 

An  impious  heathen,  who  attempts  to  show 

That  God  loves  all ;  that  all  is  good  below.' 

lie  is  a  wretch,  indeed,  who  still  for  pelf 

Damns  others,  and  would  almost  damn  himself; 

Who  lets  his  venal,  prostituted  page. 

And  to  the  highest  bidder  sells  his  rage  : 

A  sat'rist  who  resents  satiric  strains, 

Whose  dulness  tires,  who  of  the  dull  complains. 

Who  cries  true  taste  is  now  from  Paris  flown. 

Which  no  one's  works  prove  better  than  his  own. 

In  Boileau  we  excuse  satiric  rage. 

Some  beauties  please  in  the  malignant  page. 

That  bee  had  honey  to  assuage  the  grief 

Of  those  he  stung,  and  give  some  kind  relief. 

But  the  unprofitable,  stupid  drone. 


man  who  had  enlightened  the  world,  and  been  an  honor  to  his  country. 
The  edict  was  published  upon  the  report  of  Mons.  Senaux,  counsellor  of 
that  parliament. 

1  Plato's  optimism,  renewed  by  Shaftesbury,  Bolingbroke,  Leibnitz,  and 
chanted  by  Pope  in  harmonious  verse,  is  perhaps  a  false,  but  surely  not  an 
impious  system,  as  calumniators  have  said. 


ENVY.  293 

Who  lives  by  doing  dirty  work  alone, 

All  will  to  crush  the  hated  insect  try, 

At  once  disgusting  to  the  ear  and  eye. 

How  great  your  frenzy,  rash  and  envious  band, 

Ye  rival  painters,  whose  presumptuous  hand 

Dared  the  French  Zeuxis'  picture  to  deface,' 

Within  those  walls  that  Bruno  still  retrace. 

His  pencil  thus  a  new  renown  acquired. 

The  torn  remains  by  all  were  more  admired ; 

New  lustre  is  reflected  on  his  name. 

You  are  consign'd  to  infamy  and  shame. 

Men  should  so  low,  so  mean  a  vice  detest ; 

A  critic  nobly  once  his  sense  express'd. 

When  mighty  Richelieu  strove,  but  strove  in  vain, 

To  villify  Corneille's  immortal  strain  ; 

Less  bold  than  Chapelain,  he  the  task  declined. 

Defects  in  such  a  noble  work  to  find. 

AVith  generous  rage  thus  envy  he  opposed — 

"  Would  that  my  genius  had  the  work  composed."  ^ 

At  Colbert's  voice  Bernini  came  from  Rome, 

But  stood  enraptured  at  our  Perrault's  ^  dome. 

"  If  France,"  cried  he,  "  has  genius  so  sublime. 

Why  have  men  called  me  from  the  Latian  clime." 

'Tis  merit  others'  merit  thus  to  own. 

To  a  true  genius  envy  is  unknown. 

What  pleasure  from  a  generous  temper  flows ! 

How  great  to  say  with  truth,  "  I  have  no  foes ! 

In  every  brother's  welfare  I  take  part, 

W^e're  all  united  by  one  common  art." 

'Tis  thus  the  earth  with  joy  sees  woods  arise, 

1  Some  painters,  jealous  of  Le  Sueur's  reputation,  spoiled  and  defaced  his 
pictures  at  the  Carthusian  convent. 
a  Habert  de  Cerisi  of  the  Academy. 
3  Alluding  to  the  facade  of  the  old  Louvre,  designed  by  Perrault. 


294  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Whose  oak  or  fir  trees  seem  to  threat  the  skies ; 
By  the  sap's  circulating  juice  they're  fed, 
Each  root  is  deep  as  hell,  in  heaven  each  head. 
The  force  of  winds  their  solid  trunks  assails, 
They  bend,  and  the  fierce  tempest's  fury  fails. 
Secure  they  flourish  by  each  other's  aid, 
And  over  time  itself  triumphs  the  shade. 
War  at  their  feet  the  hissing  serpents  wage, 
And  the  stain'd  roots  bear  witness  to  their  rage. 


DISSERTATION  lY. 

UPON    MODERATION    IN    ALL    THINGS,    STUDY,  AMBITION,  AND 
PLEASURE. 

TO    M.    HELVETIUS. 

Fools,  by  excess,  make  varied  pleasures  pall ; 
True  moderation  is  the  wise  man's  all ; 
Pleasure  and  business  to  combine  lie  knows, 
And  makes  joy  terminate  in  due  repose. 
To  all  things  no  one  mortal  can  aspire ; 
From  early  youth  to  know  was  your  desire  ; 
Nature's  your  book,  you  strive  with  curious  eye 
In  nature  more  than  others  to  descry. 
Guided  by  reason  nature  try  to  sound. 
But  set  to  curiosity  a  bound. 
Stop  on  infinity's  dread  verge  your  course, 
And  pry  not  into  nature's  awful  source  ; 
Reaumur  and  BufFon,  who,  with  piercing  sight, 
Athwart  her  veil  discern'd  truth's  sacred  light, 
Cannot  by  philosophic  process  state 
The  wondrous  laws  by  which  plants  vegetate. 
Was  it  e'er  known  to  the  profoundest  sage, 
Why  panthers,  tigers,  and  why  aspics  rage  ? 
Wherefore  to  man  the  dog  still  lifts  his  eyes, 
And  licks  his  master's  hand  before  he  dies  ? 
Why  on  a  hundred  legs,  with  motion  slow, 
Does  yonder  insect  ever  trembling  go  ? 
Why  does  the  reptile,  which  entomb'd  now  lies, 
Revive,  ere  long,  and  with  new  body  rise  ? 


296  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Why  does  it,  crowned  like  flame,  ascending  spring, 

And  in  the  air  expand  its  gorgeous  wing  ? 

Can  e'en  du  Fai,'  whose  head  with  plants  is  fill'd, 

Du  Fa'i  in  vegetables  deeply  skill'd. 

Tell  why  yon  plant,  as  't  were  of  sense  possessed, 

Shrinks  from  the  touch,  however  gently  press'd  ? 

Languid  with  sickness,  on  your  bed  reclined. 

From  Sylva's  eloquence  relief  you  find ; 

He  makes  the  tortured  patient  cease  to  groan, 

To  him  the  happy  art  to  please  is  known. 

Can  Sylva's  self  the  economy  explain 

Which  works  digestion,  and  makes  food  sustain  ? 

How,  changed  to  milk,  the  food  digested  flows. 

How,  by  degrees,  'tis  filtrated,  and  goes 

To  pour  into  my  veins  a  purple  tide. 

By  which  both  strength  and  spirits  are  supplied — 

Which  makes  the  pulse  of  life  incessant  beat. 

And  in  the  brain  fix  deathless  reason's  seat  ? 

Lost  in  amaze,  he  lifts  to  heaven  his  eye. 

And  bids  you  for  the  truth  to  God  apply. 

Keturn,  Maupertuis,  to  these  realms  of  light. 

From  realms  where,  half  the  year,  day's  hid  in  night ; 

You,'  who  alone  the  praise  of  Newton  share, 

Who  know  the  truth,  the  truth  to  man  declare. 

You  who  forego,  in  search  of  knowledge,  ease. 

Who  traverse  mountains,  and  who  pass  the  seas. 

Who  can  the  mind  and  body's  toil  sustain. 

Who  can  our  planet's  figure  ascertain. 


»  M.  du  Fai  was  superintendent  of  the  Eoyal  Garden  and  Cabinet  of 
Natural  History,  which  had  been  very  much  neglected  before  he  under- 
took the  care  of  it ;  and  which  was  afterwards  so  much  improved  by  Buf- 
fon,  that  it  became  the  admiration  of  strangers.  There  are  cabinets  in 
Europe  richer  in  some  parts,  but  none  so  complete. 

9  Messieurs  Maupertuis,  Clairaut,  La  Monnier,  went  to  Tomea,  in  1736, 
to  measure  a  degree  of  the  meridian,  and  brought  back  two  Laps. 


MODERATION.  297 

Who  scan  all  nature's  laws  with  minds  profound, 
And  e'en  attraction's  hidden  cause  expound — 
Tell  me,  ye  men  to  wdiom  all  things  seem  known, 
How,  seated  on  his  everlasting  throne. 
The  Great  First  Mover  can  at  will  control 
Those  orbs  which  in  the  heavens  incessant  roll, 
Direct  their  motions,  make  them  gravitate 
Towards  each  other  with  responsive  weight  ? 
Why  towards  the  sun  is  this  our  nether  world 
For  ever  puH'd,  and  round  its  axis  hurl'd  ? 
Why  in  twelve  years  does  Jove  the  heavens  go  round, 
Why  of  his  days  is  ten  hours'  space  the  bound  ? 
These  subtle  disquisitions  all  are  vain — 
Man  measures  heaven,  but  nature  can't  explain. 
Thus  by  sure  art,  and  by  perspective's  law. 
You  may  the  front  of  some  proud  palace  draw, 
Its  archit-ecture's  to  the  eye  reveal'd, 
The  inside  of  the  structure  is  conceal'd. 
Why  should  I  grieve,  then,  if  my  feeble  sight 
Cannot  pierce  through  this  veil  of  darkest  night  ? 
I  would  not,  like  Empedocles,  aspire 
To  know  the  nature  of  famed  ^Etna's  fire. 
Who  to  walk  o'er  sulphureous  vaults  presumed ; 
Who  fire  would  know,  and  was  by  fire  consumed. 
Let  then  ambition's  sallies  be  represt — 
Ambition,  ruling  passion  of  the  breast ! 
The  farmer-general  rude,  the  magistrate 
Who  struts  with  the  imperious  airs  of  state, 
All  these  to  court,  contempt  to  suifer,  go, 
Contempt  which  they  to  all  at  Paris  show. 
E'en  bards  sometimes,  urged  on  by  Phoebus'  flame, 
Have  been  deluded  by  that  phantom  fame  : 
Plato  was  Dionysius'  humble  guest, 
Louis  Racine,  turn'd  Jansenist,  caress'd. 
13^ 


208  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Horace,  in  loose  and  prostituted  lays, 

A  wanton  sung,  and  sold  Octavius  praise. 

At  court,  these  pawn'd  integrity  for  gain. 

But  opulence  and  ease  made  light  their  chain. 

Horace,  the  sage,  with  affluence  lived  blest : 

Who  grasps  at  all,  is  sure  to  be  distrest. 

E'en  I,  renouncing  what  I  first  profess'd. 

Lived,  I  avow,  by  royalty  caress'd. 

My  ship  had  founder'd  in  these  siren  waves, 

Bewitch'd  in  sense,  and  fetter'd  as  their  slaves. 

"  I  love  thee,"  they  did  cry ;  I,  fool,  believed 

The  empty  word  some  essence  real  conceived. 

Ensnared,  in  vain  desire  to  please  I  plied 

The  manly  freedom  that  is  all  my  pride. 

And  losing  reason,  my  true  armor  bright, 

Thought  that  a  subject  could  a  king  delight. 

How  have  I  mourn'd  me  of  this  error  drear ! 

Scarce  had  I  enter'd  on  the  court's  career, 

My  soul  enlighten'd,  open  to  regret, 

Sigh'd  only  for  the  means  to  break  the  net. 

Ye  reasoning  men,  and  ye  who  think  to  be. 

Would  you  live  happy,  live  forever  free. 

Ye  who  have  introduced  in  Gallia's  court 

All  Sybaris'  luxury  and  wanton  sport. 

Who,  on  the  downy  bed  of  ease  reclined. 

To  sensual  joys  devote  your  drunken  mind — 

Ye  madmen,  who  would  pleasure  thus  pursue, 

Learn  how  to  know  it,  and  enjoy  it  too ! 

Pleasures  are  flowers  which  the  hand  of  God 

Rears  mid  the  thorns  that  spring  upon  our  road ; 

Each  has  its  season,  and  with  moderate  care. 

May  serve  the  winter  of  our  life  to  cheer. 

They  must  be  pluck'd,  howe'er,  with  fingers  light, 

For  frail's  their  form,  like  breath  their  hues  so  bnVht. 


IStODERATION. 


299 


Present  not  to  your  senses,  when  they  fail, 

All  the  perfumes  which  Flora  can  exhale ; 

Let  us  not  strive  of  all  joys  to  partake. 

But  let  us  pleasure  quit,  for  pleasure's  sake : 

Who  labors  hard,  true  pleasure  still  obtains ; 

I  pity  him  whom  indolence  enchains. 

True  wisdom  yields  true  happiness  below. 

On  earth  no  harvests  without  culture  grow  : 

Good,  by  umvearied  pains,  must  here  be  sought, 

Success  by  industry  alone  is  bought. 

Behold  Brossorct,'  critic  in  nice  fare, 

To  supper  from  the  opera  repair ! 

Pleasure  in  luxury  he  hopes  to  find. 

But  vapors  still  o'ercast  his  clouded  mind. 

His  soul  o'erwhelm'd,  no  rays  of  light  pervade. 

He  sleeps  supine  in  dark  oblivion's  shade ; 

He  grasps  at  joy,  to  rapture  he  aspires 

In  vain ;  he's  dead  to  pleasure  and  desires. 

Caress'd  by  ease,  officious  and  o'er-kind. 

Pleasure  long  since  on  sloth's  soft  lap  reclined : 

Love,  music,  poetry,  no  more  could  please, 

Man  was  enslaved  by  indolence  and  ease. 

But  God,  in  pity  to  man's  helpless  kind. 

Labor  with  pleasure,  joy  with  pain  combined. 

Awaked  by  fear,  man  strives  his  bliss  to  gain  ; 

Toil  ever  follows  in  fair  pleasure's  train. 

To  charm  by  novelty  be  still  your  care ; 

I  speak  to  you,  young  lovers,  and  the  fair. 

Subdued  by  sense,  and  by  delusions  vain, 

Damon,  the  hoped-for  bliss  you  can't  obtain. 

You  think,  by  Daphne's  charms  with  love  inspired, 


1  He  was  a  coxxnsellor  to  parliament,  very  rich — a  voluptuous  man,  who 
lived  sumptuously.    The  early  editions  have  Lucidlus. 


'^00  POEnOAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

You  ne*er  can  of  her  company  be  tired. 
But  transports  last  not  in  the  human  heart, 
In  time  with  transport  you'll  agree  to  part. 
Who  hope  in  constant  converse  bliss  to  find 
Must  greatly  soar  above  the  vulgar  mind. 
Such  joy  may  be  by  souls  superior  sought, 
From  caprice  free,  with  every  virtue  fraught ; 
Who  live  in  friendship  must  in  worth  excel ; 
In  hearts  corrupted,  friendship  cannot  dwell. 
Friendship  divine !  thy  influence  we  bless, 
AVith  thee  we  find  a  virtue  in  excess. 
Blest  friendship,  shielded  by  thy  heavenly  power, 
New  joys  I  taste  each  season,  and  each  hour. 
Man  by  himself  forlorn,  if  you  assist. 
By  force  of  love  in  others  can  exist. 
The  good  man's  idol,  passion  of  the  sage, 
Friendship,  thy  name  shall  consecrate  my  page ; 
Govern  my  heart,  and  o'er  my  verse  preside. 
Inspired  by  thee,  to  bliss  I'll  mortals  guide. 


DISSEETATIOIST  Y. 


How  long  shall  bigots,  by  false  zeal  grown  rude, 
All  human  kind  from  Paradise  exclude  ? 
To  virtue  mortals  shall  they  then  excite 
By  sermons  which  fair  virtue  e'en  affright  ? 
Shall  preachers,  then,  in  Calvin's  footsteps  tread, 
AVho  thinks  God,  like  himself,  by  anger  led  ? 
Some  tyrant  minister,  elate  and  proud, 
I  see,  methinks,  amid  a  slavish  crowd. 
Dictate,  with  savage  air,  what  rage  inspires  ; 
A  milder  government  my  soul  requires. 
Now  Timon  thinks  he  leads  a  perfect  life, 
Since  he's  regardless  of  its  joys  and  strife. 
Poor  Timon,  thou  forget' st  (ah !  heed  my  plaint) 
To  be  a  man  ere  thou  becom'st  a  saint. 
I  praise  God's  mercy,  I  revere  his  law — 
Approach  him,  mortals,  gratefully  adore. 
Hark,  how  you're  call'd  by  Nature's  voice  benign, 
Through  joys  and  pleasures  to  the  Power  Divine ! 
The  treasures  of  his  wisdom  ne'er  were  known — 
Matter  by  motion  he  directs  alone ; 
But  man  by  pleasure  to  conduct  he  knows ; 
Learn  to  enjoy  the  bliss  his  hand  bestows. 
Pleasure  existence  gives  to  human  kind, 

»  This  poem  turns  entirely  upon  the  impossibility  of  man's  having  any 
sensations  entirely  his  own.  All  oiir  sensations  prove  a  God,  and  all  our 
agreeable  sensations  prove  a  benevolent  God. 


302  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

It  actuates  body,  and  inspires  the  mind. 

Whether  soft  slumbers  close  your  weary  eyes, 

Or  morn  to  rouse  you  gilds  the  orient  skies ; 

Or  if,  by  hunger  prest,  you  seek  for  fare. 

The  painful  waste  of  labor  to  repair ; 

Or  if  impell'd  by  love  two  hearts  combine 

To  frame  a  being  to  prolong  their  line ; 

In  every  circumstance,  the  Power  Supreme 

Can  sweeten  wants  with  pleasure's  softest  dream, 

Man  is  impell'd  to  act  by  joy  alone  ; 

All  other  motives  are  to  him  unknown. 

Did  not  our  souls  alluring  pleasure  draw. 

Who  would  submit  to  Hymen's  rigid  law  ? 

What  beauty  would  not  sorely  curse  her  doom, 

Condemn'd  a  child  to  carry  in  her  womb. 

To  bear  excruciating  pangs  and  throes, 

An  infant  nurse,  and  feel  a  mother's  woes. 

His  wayward  imbecility  to  shield. 

And  after  to  his  youthful  sallies  yield  ? 

Enjoying  pleasures  in  each  state  and  hour. 

Mortals  acknowledge  God's  eternal  power. 

But  wherefore,  said  I,  in  your  joys  alone  ? 

Even  in  your  woes  God's  wisdom  is  made  known. 

That  sense  so  quick  of  danger  and  of  harm. 

That  guard,  forever  prompt  to  take  the  alarm, 

Cries  out  incessantly,  of  hurt  beware. 

Defend  your  lives,  preserve  your  health  with  care ! 

No  quarter  self-love  can  with  zealots  find. 

They  style  it  hell-born  foe  to  human  kind. 

Wretches,  traduce  not  of  God's  gifts  the  best. 

Love  comes  from  heaven,  God  means  to  make  us  blest* 

From  self  to  sons,  to  countrymen,  descends 

Our  love ;  but  most  of  all,  we  love  our  friends. 

Love  like  a  soul  can  e'en  our  souls  inspire. 


\ 


^^ 

NATURE   OF   PLKASU]^^'.       "  303 

And  make  tliem  soar  to  heaven  on  wings 

God  gives  to  man,  at  once  severe  and  kind, 

Passions '  to  raise  to  noble  deeds  the  mind. 

They're  dangerous  gifts,  although  'twas  Heaven  that  gave  ; 

Abuse  destroys,  but  prudent  use  can  save. 

I  pity  not  that  mortal,  but  admire. 

Who  knows  to  check  by  reason  each  desire  ; 

Who,  shunning  man,  to  God  devotes  his  mind, 

Nor  asks  to  know  perfidious  human  kind  ; 

Who,  loving  God  with  all  his  heart  and  might, 

Shuns  lawful  pleasures  for  more  high  delight. 

If  of  his  cross  he's  proud,  of  fasting  vain, 

Yet  still  in  secret  weary  of  his  pain — 

If  he  condemns  the  world  from  which  he  fled, 

Rails  at  all  ties,  and  at  the  marriage-bed  ; 

We  do  not  in  such  pride  and  rancor  trace 

The  friend  of  God,  but  foe  to  human  race  ; 

Through  his  chagrin  and  oft-exciting  spleen, 

Regret  of  pleasure  he  foregoes  is  seen. 

Heaven,  which  bestow'd  on  every  man  a  heart. 


1  As  most  of  the  words  of  a  language  may  be  explained  in  more  than  one 
sense,  it  may  not  be  improper  to  apprise  the  reader,  that  by  the  word  pas- 
sions he  should  understand  strong  desires  which  continue  for  any  length  of 
time,  whatever  be  the  nature  of  the  good  which  they  aim  at.  The  word  is 
derived  from  the  Latin  verb  patior,  to  suffer,  because  no  desire  is  unat- 
tended with  pain  ;  to  desire  the  possession  of  any  thing  good  is  to  feel  its 
absence,  and  the  first  step  towards  pleasure  is  the  assuagin.g  of  that  pain. 
The  virtuous  and  the  vicious  are  equally  subject  to  those  lively  and  con- 
tinued desires  which  go  by  the  name  of  passions.  They  are  never  vices 
but  when  rendered  so  by  their  object:  a  man's  desire  to  succeed  in  his 
profession,  conjugal  love,  parental  affection,  a  taste  for  the  sciences,  are 
passions,  though  there  is  nothing  criminal  in  them.  It  were  to  be  wished 
that  language  could  afford  us  words  to  express  those  habitual  desires  which 
are  in  themselves  indiff'erent,  those  which  are  virtuous,  and  those  which 
are  blamable  ;  but  there  '  not  a  language  in  the  world  which  has  terms 
capable  of  conveying  all  our  ideas  ;  and  men  are  under  a  necessity  of  using 
the  same  word  in  different  acceptations,  just  as  the  same  tool  is  frequently 
used  in  works  of  a  different  nature. 


304  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

To  animate  it,  must  desires  impart. 

The  modern  stoic  would  each  wish  control, 

And  of  its  very  essence  rob  my  soul. 

His  doctrine  is,  that  God  of  us  would  make 

Such  use  as  jealous  Mussulmen,  awake 

To  safety  of  their  honor  from  disgrace. 

Do  of  poor  eunuchs — outcasts  of  our  race. 

You,  who  at  nature  level  all  your  rage, 

Have  you  not  read  the  ancient's  moral  page  ? 

In  Peleus'  daughters,  Peleus  worn  and  old, 

As  in  a  glass  your  folly  you  behold. 

They  thought  both  time  and  nature  to  subdue, 

And  youthful  vigor  in  their  sire  renew  : 

They  slew,  and  left  him  weltering  in  his  gore, 

Hoping  the  while  life's  freshness  to  restore. 

Stoics,  herein  behold  your  frightful  form — 

Ye  murder  nature,  striving  to  reform. 

From  use  of  good,  felicity  must  rise. 

Ruin  from  its  abuse  ;  so  say  the  wise. 

In  abstinence  shun  not  Petronius  less 

Thai!  Epictetus  in  his  dire  excess. 

Fatal  to  happiness  is  either  scheme ; 

Bliss  never  yet  was  found  in  the  extreme. 

Declaimer  subtle,*  I  don't  therefore  say. 

That  man  to  all  his  passions  should  give  way ; 

I  would  this  fiery  courser's  speed  restrain. 

And  stem  this  torrent  pouring  o'er  the  plain, 

Its  headlong  rage  by  banks  and  dams  command, 

Nor  suffer  it  to  overflow  my  land. 

Winds,  purify  the  air,  no  tempest  raise  ; 

Scorch  us  not,  sun,  but  light  with  kindly  rays ! 


>  This  applies  only  to  those  ultra  writers  who  would  deprive  men  of  all 
seutimen'. 


NATURE   OF   PLEASURE. 

God,  to  all  beings  that  exist,  a  friend, 

Thy  care  to  instincts  which  thou  gav'st,  extend. 

The  taste  of  friendship,  social  tie  of  hearts, 

The  love  of  study,  solitude,  and  arts — 

These  are  my  passions ;  at  all  times  my  mind 

Could  in  their  charms  attractive  comfort  find. 

When  on  the  banks  of  Maine  two  rogues  in  place, 

Who  often  broke  the  laws  of  human  race  ; 

When  two  commission'd  thieves,  by  avarice  led, 

Upon  me  all  their  rage  malignant  shed ; 

Then  learned  ease  w^as  my  delight  alone, 

I  cultivated  arts  to  them  unknown. 

'Twas  thus  Jove's  son  his  cares  with  music  eased 

His  lowing  herds  when  wily  Cacus  seized. 

He  still  continued  his  harmonious  strain. 

Thieves  strove  to  interrupt  the  song  in  vain. 

That  man  is  born  to  a  propitious  fate. 

Who  to  the  Muse  his  time  can  dedicate ; 

He  from  the  tuneful  art  derives  repose, 

The  Muse  his  anger  soothes,  dispels  his  woes : 

He  laughs  at  all  the  follies  of  mankind, 

And  in  his  lyre  a  sure  relief  can  find. 


305 


DISSERTATION  VI. 

UPON    THE    NATURE    OF    MAN. 

Virtue  presides  still  over  your  delights, 

And  me,  too,  by  the  charm  of  verse  invites. 

Your  study's  man ;  that  labyrinth  you  explore ; 

Your  guide  the  clue  of  wisdom's  sacred  lore. 

Ashamed  of  ignorance,  to  study  man 

I  strive ;  myself,  my  being  1  would  scan  : 

To  satire,  Pascal  and  Boileau  inclined, 

Have  dipt  their  pen  in  gall  and  lash'd  mankind. 

Leibnitz  and  Pope,  at  once  both  learn'd  and  sage, 

Observe  a  medium  in  their  moral  page ; 

Wisely  the  latent  tracts  of  man  explore, 

And  to  the  Deity  sublimely  soar. 

But  Nature's  ways  they  strove  to  find  in  vain, 

Man  is  a  riddle  man  cannot  explain ; 

Upon  the  subject  all  their  wit  have  shown, 

But  still  the  riddle's  sense  remains  unknown. 

By  prostitutes,  I  know,  and  rakes  profest. 

The  disquisition's  treated  as  a  jest. 

At  supper  some  lewd  verses  read  aloud. 

Which  charm  the  sprightly,  gay,  unthinking  crowd. 

But  study  pleases  when  our  mirth  is  past ; 

Reason  succeeds  to  witty  jests  at  last. 

Upon  ourselves  we  turn  a  curious  eye. 

And  into  our  own  nature  strive  to  pry  : 

Thought  is  to  those  who  live  in  crowds  unknown, 

We  seriously  reflect  when  left  alone. 


308  POFnCAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

With  you  I  fain  would  soar  on  wisdom's  wing 

From  this  vile  world  to  its  Eternal  King. 

That  wondrous  chain  discover,  if  you  can, 

Which  links  the  heavens  with  earth,  with  angels  man ; 

That  world  of  beings  subjects  to  one  law. 

Which  Plato  and  which  Pope  in  fancy  saw. 

In  vain  you  press  me,  such  a  great  design 

My  genius  must  in  silent  awe  decline : 

Gallic  correctness  all  my  flights  restrains, 

Ours  are  not  free  like  Greek  or  British  strains. 

'Tis  Pope's  to  speak,  I  am  to  silence  bound ; 

Bachelors  of  Bourges  may  mysteries  expound. 

I've  taken  no  degree,  nor  will  engage 

In  fierce  debate,  or  war  polemic  wage. 

Hear  a  recital  with  instruction  fraught. 

Which  by  Fourmont'  may  be  a  fable  thought; 

But  which  I  in  a  Chinese  author  found 

Translated  by  a  Jesuit  profound. 

A  mouse  did  once  thus  to  another  say  : 

"  O'er  what  a  noble  empire  bear  we  sway ! 

This  palace'  deep  foundations  erst  were  laid 

For  us,  for  us  by*God  these  holes  were  made. 

See  you  those  hams  in  yon  vault  closely  pent  ? 

By  God  they  thither  for  our  use  were  sent. 

Those  hills  of  bacon,  an  unfailing  store. 

Shall  last  for  us  till  time  shall  be  no  more. 

A  mouse,  great  God,  the  Sages  all  declare 

Creation's  end :  a  w^ork  beyond  compare ! 

Vicious  are  cats,  to  eat  us  much  inclined ; 

Yet  only  so  from  vice  to  win  our  kind." 

Not  far  a  multitude  of  geese  are  seen. 


»  A  man  deeply  versed  in  the  history  of  China,  as  well  as  in  the  Chinese 
language. 


NATUEE   OF   IVIAN.  309 

Drawn  up  near  woods  and  streams  upon  the  green ; 

Of  pamper'd  turkeys  troops  that  strut  in  state, 

And  flocks  that  bend  beneath  their  fleeces'  weight ; 

They  cried  :  "  The  universe  is  ours  alone ; 

Whatever  the  Almighty  made,  we  own." 

In  the  clear  watery  image,  while  he  grazed, 

The  ass  his  beauty  saw,  and  was  amazed. 

He  cries :  "  For  asses  God  has  made  the  earth, 

Man  still  attends  me,  he's  my  slave  from  birth ; 

He  curries,  washes  me,  and,  more  to  please, 

Builds  my  seraglio,  for  my  joys  purveys. 

And  happy  to  procure  me  soft  delight. 

Brings  a  she-ass  to  crown  my  bliss  at  night : 

Often  I  laugh  to  see  the  haughty  slave 

Bring  me  the  gift  which  Heaven  kindly  gave." 

Man  came  the  next,  his  plea  was  much  the  same ; 

He  cried :  "  Heaven,  earth,  and  elements  I  claim  : 

To  waft  me,  ocean  rolls  and  winds  arise ; 

To  give  me  light,  stars  glitter  in  the  skies ; 

Night's  argent  globe  through  heaven's  clear  azure  glides, 

Increases,  wanes,  and  o'er  the  stars  presides ; 

O'er  all  presides  my  vast,  capacious  mind. 

In  the  wide  universe  too  close  confined  : 

But  though  I'm  oracle  and  master  here, 

I  should  be  raised  to  a  more  glorious  sphere." 

The  angels  then,  who  in  high  heaven  control 

The  wandering  orbs,  and  teach  them  how  to  roll, 

Exclaim'd,  while  at  their  will  they  moved  each  ball : 

"  God  for  our  pleasure  has  created  all." 

Then  earth  with  pity  and  wnth  scorn  they  eyed, 

And  laugh'd  at  mortals  and  at  human  pride. 

Their  secret  thoughts  were  all  to  Tien '  known ; 

1  God  is  called  by  this  name  in  the  Chinese  language. 


310  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

He  summon'd  them  before  the  eternal  throne : 

Each  varied  being,  angel,  beast,  and  man, 

All  that  compose  the  Almighty's  wondrous  plan. 

"  You  are  my  creatures — all ;  I  call  you  mine : 

You  bear,"  said  he,  "  my  character  divine ; 

To  me  you  all,  as  to  your  centre,  tend ; 

For  me  you  all  were  made,  on  me  depend : 

I  rule  at  once  o'er  Nature,  Time,  and  Fate — 

By  me  each  being  is  assign'd  its  state. 

Imperfect  creatures !  you  aspire  in  vain ; 

In  your  own  stations,  satisfied,  remain." 

Man  still  was  discontented  with  his  place. 

Still  at  their  lot  repined  the  human  race. 

A  learn'd  Chinese,  grown  old  in  fierce  dispute, 

Who  reason  could  by  argument  confute, 

With  old  Confucius'  logic  quite  possess'd, 

In  form,  to  God  presented  his  request : 

"  Why  is  my  time  a  second  ?     Why  my  space 

A  point  ?     Why  falls  so  soon  the  human  race  ? 

Why  am  not  I  a  hundred  cubits  high  ? 

Why  can't  I  travel  swiftly  through  the  sky  ? 

Why  can't  I  teach  the  erring  moon  her  way  ? 

Why  am  not  I  awake  both  night  and  day  ? 

Why  can't  I  prove,  inflamed  by  amorous  fire, 

In  one  month,  of  a  hundred  sons  the  sire  ? 

Why,  in  one  day,  does  all  my  ardor  cease  ?" 

"Your  questions,  said  the  god,  you  might  increase 

But  I  am  certain  that  you'll  doubt  no  more. 

When  you,  for  truth,  the  ideal  world  explore." 

Even  then  an  angel  bore  him  from  the  place. 

Far  as  the  centre  of  unbounded  space  ;      • 

O'er  suns,  which  circling  planets  still  surround. 

Moons,  rings,  and  comets,  which  no  limits  bound : 

A  globe  he  enter'd,  where  the  hand  divine 


NATURE    OF   MAN.  311 

Of  nature's  God  had  traced  his  great  design ; 
The  eye  can  there  each  real  system  scan, 
And  of  each  system  possible  the  plan. 
Now  animating  hopes  the  sage  inspire, 
He  seeks  a  world  made  to  his  heart's  desire. 
He  sought  in  vain ;  the  angel  made  him  know, 
That  what  he  wish'd  could  ne'er  exist  below ; 
For  could  man,  giant-like,  with  heaven  engage, 
Or  rather  war  against  right  reason  Avage, 
Had  God  extended  in  his  earthly  sphere 
His  life  up  to  a  twenty-thousandth  year. 
This  mass  of  earth  and  water  ne'er  could  find 
Room  for  the  overgrown,  gigantic  kind. 
Reasons  like  these  the  caviller  confound, 
He  owns  each  being  has  its  proper  bound ; 
That  'tis  a  folly  to  aspire  below. 
Since  life  and  pleasure  both  their  limits  know  ; 
That  man  should  not  of  grief  or  toil  complain, 
And  less  of  death,  which  frees  him  from  his  chain  : 
That  he  should  not  fatigue  the  heavenly  throne. 
Since  to  the  Almighty  change  was  never  known. 
Convinced,  not  satisfied,  the  sage  his  flight 
Bent  to  the  earth,  and  own'd  that  all  is  right ; 
But  still  he  murmur'd,  midst  the  earthly  throng, 
A  doctor  never  can  be  in  the  wrong ; 
More  flexible  was  Matthew  Garo's  mind,' 
God  for  all  things  to  praise,  his  soul  inclined. 
Perhaps  God  erst  on  men  more  wealth  bestow'd. 
Perhaps  their  plains  with  milk  and  honey  flow'd ; 
The  night,  perhaps,  was  lightsome  as  the  day, 

1  See  la  Fontaine's  fable,  The  Acorn  and  the  Pumpkin  (Book  ix.  4). 
"  En  louant  Dieu  de  toute  chose 
Garo  retourne  a  la  malson." 

Yet  Garo  is  answered  in  the  Questions  sur  V Encydoptdic. 


312  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

And  winter  bloom'd  with  all  the  flowers  of  May ; 

While  man,  the  king  of  earth,  in  peace  retired, 

Wrapt  up  in  self,  himself  alone  admired. 

But  let  us  rest  contented  with  our  fate, 

Our  bliss  is  suited  to  our  present  state. 

Against  our  Maker  murmurs  must  prove  vain, 

Mortals  should  not  the  laws  of  God  arraign  : 

Let  us  to  serve  him  all  our  lives  employ. 

And  gratefully  the  bliss  he  gives  enjoy. 

If  to  two  days  the  Almighty  had  confined 

The  time  allotted  to  all  human  kind. 

We  should  to  God  those  two  short  days  consign. 

And  consecrate  the  time  to  love  divine. 

He  who  assiduous  every  call  attends, 

Never  complains  that  life  too  quickly  ends. 

Much  might  one  live  in  very  little  space. 

As  I  good  proof  of  this  will  bring  apace ; 

But  authors  should  not  to  instruct  aspire  : 

Who  speaks  too  much  is  ever  sure  to  tire. 

Thus  did  my  Muse,  in  simple,  artless  strain. 

And  various  tones,  strive  nature  to  explain ; 

While  France's  sons,  in  nature's  tablets  wise, 

At  Quito  hoped  to  see  new  stars  arise ; 

While  Clairaut  and  Maupertuis,  mid  the  snow, 

The  Laps  amazed  by  what  our  children  know ; 

While  rival  of  the  old  Prometheus'  fame, 

Vaucanson  brings  to  man  celestial  flame. 

Boldly  to  copy  nature's  self  aspires, 

And  bodies  animates  with  heavenly  fires. 

Remote  from  cities,  on  Parnassus'  shore 

I  pass'd  my  days,  intent  on  learned  lore ; 

And  from  the  sphere  where  Milton,  unconfined. 

At  pleasure  roved,  where  pierced  great  Newton's  mind, 

I  saw  them  soar,  with  emulation  fired. 


NATURE   OF   MAN. 

Genius  sublime  and  arts  my  soul  admired ; 
Slanderers  in  me  beheld  their  foe  profess'd  ; 
Fanatics  wild,  informers  I  detest ; 
I  know  no  envy,  or  pei*fidious  art, 
I  worship  God  with  pure  and  upright  heart ; 
And  though  my  body's  with  diseases  spent, 
My  active  mind  on  study  is  intent ; 
I  live  convinced  that  while  we  here  remain, 
To  hope  for  perfect  happiness  is  vain. 
14 


313 


DISSERTATION^  YH.' 

UPON    TRUE    VIRTUE. 

Virtue's  a  word  Avell  known,  at  least,  'twould  seem : 

Of  stage,  bar,  pulpit,  it  is  e'er  the  tHeme ; 

The  royal  palace  therewith  daily  rings. 

And  e'en  'tis  heard  upon  the  lips  of  kings. 

Sweet  word,  to  which  the  ear  all  gladly  lend, 

Easy  to  speak,  but  hard  to  comprehend  : 

Deceived  are  w^c,  and  ever  we  deceive. 

False  coins  we  utter,  genuine  believe ; 

Build  schemes  to  cheat  which  seem  without  a  flaw, 

And  cheat  ourselves,  as  did  the  rascal  Law. 

What's  virtue  ?     Brutus — so  the  tale  e'er  ran — 
Regretted  that  he  was  an  honest  man. 
"  Virtue,"  said  he,  "  is  nothing  but  a  name." 
Zeno's  old  school,  of  very  doubtful  fame. 
Insensibility  as  virtue  rates. 
The  frantic  dervis  of  Levantine  States, 
With  eyes  and  arms  upturn'd,  will  God  adore, 
And  his  illuminating  grace  implore ; 
And  in  Mahomet's  name,  then  dancing  round. 
Believe  that  virtue's  summit  he  has  found. 

AVith  cord  about  his  loins,  and  aspect  bold, 
See  yonder  hermit,  ignorant  and  old, 

I  This  Dissertation  was,  at  first,  addressed  to  Eacine  the  younger,  au- 
thor of  the  poem  on  Grace. 


316  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

Twanging,  behind  a  desk  of  ancient  style, 

A  hundred  Hebrew  psalms  in  Latin  vile. 

May  Ileaven  bless  his  piety  profound ! 

But  to  whose  profit  will  it  all  redound  ? 

He  may  be  good ;  what  has  his  goodness  wrought  ? 

Good  for  one's  self  alone  is  good  for  naught. 

When  the  Great  Chastener  of  priests  and  scribes, 
Was  unto  Pilate  led  mid  taunts  and  gibes, 
With  insolence,  call'd  dignity,  forsooth. 
The  haughty  Roman  ask'd  him  :  "What  is  truth  ?" 
Though  able  to  instruct,  or  to  confound, 
The  God-man,  in  reply,  deign'd  not  a  sound. 
His  silence  eloquent  too  plainly  said  : 
This  long-sought  truth  for  us  was  never  made. 
But  when,  enkindled  by  a  heavenly  ray, 
A  simple  townsman  met  him  in  the  way. 
And  like  a  good  disciple  sought  to  know 
The  state  of  man,  man's  duty  here  below. 
For  man's  good  willing  aught  should  be  reveal'd, 
He  who  knew  all  things  then  his  lips  unseal'd. 
And,  in  such  words  as  come  but  from  above, 
"  Love  God,"  said  He,  "  your  neighbor  also  love." 
Behold  God's  law !  'tis  all  we  can  demand ; 
What  he  requires  is  summ'd  in  one  command. 
The  world  is  vain,  'gainst  Heaven  in  constant  war. 
To  fly  is  well,  to  serve  it  better  far. 
Oh,  would  that  man  might  for  his  fellow  live ! 

Madden'd  fanatic,  whither  dost  thou  drive  ? 
Why  this  strange  look,  this  pallid,  hollow  face  ? 
These  starts  convulsive,'  this  unsteady  pace  ? 

»  The  Convulsionists. 


TRUE    VIRTUE.  31' 

Against  a  wicked  age  thy  wratli  to  pour, 

Thou  glidest  softly  to  yon  upper  floor, 

Where  bigots  like  thyself,  in  conclave  sad. 

In  God's  praise  shout  and  swear,  and,  still  more  mad. 

Pretended  readings  of  the  future  make, 

And  miracles  by  hundreds  undertake. 

To  them  the  blind  man  comes  expecting  sight. 

And,  praying,  homeward  goes,  still  blind  as  night. 

The  cripple,  credulous,  leaps  'neath  their  touch. 

But  falls,  yet  sings,  and  goes  home  on  his  crutch. 

The  deaf  man  listens  with  a  vacant  look, 

Yet  nothing  hears ;  and  these  deluded  folk 

By  zealots  duped,  by  false  tales  overjoy'd, 

Preach  that  the  world  is  soon  to  be  destroy'd. 

This  mystery  has  noble  charms,  I  know ; 
And  saints  have  pleasures  which  to  me  ne'er  flow. 
For  miracles  are  good ;  but  from  distress 
To  draw  a  friend,  relieve  his  wretchedness. 
To  give  a  hand  to  one  by  vice  deform'd, 
Are  greater  miracles,  no  more  perform'd. 

Now,  here's  a  judge  call'd  honest  and  severe  ; 
His  soul  is  never  moved  by  love  or  fear, 
He  makes  men  toward  his  office  hatred  feel. 
And  wretches  out  of  duty  and  through  zeal. 
Save  some  importunate,  but  to  beguile, 
Did  he  e'er  look  on  merit  with  a  smile, 
Select  it  in  the  crowd,  aid  cheerfully 
The  man  whose  only  fault  was  modesty  ? 
To  some  poor  knaves  he  may  have  justice  shown ! 
Impartiality  alone  is  naught ; 
Some  faithful  service  with  it  should  be  wrought. 
The  just  man's  kind.     Historians  relate 


318  POETICAL   DISSERTATIONS. 

That  once  an  odious  premier  of  the  State, 

Thus  to  the  king  despotic  counsel  gave  : 

"  Timante  is  no  good  Catholic ;  the  knave 

Has  Calvin's  Bible  often  in  his  hand ! 

You  should  such  sin  suppress  by  your  command ; 

Imprison  him,  or  into  exile  send." 

"  Timante  helps  me  my  kingdom  to  defend," 

The  king  replied ;  "  you  tell  me  where  he's  weak, 

But  of  his  toil  for  me  you  do  not  speak !" 

The  equitable  prudence  of  this  king 

Paints  virtue  better  far  than  any  thing. 

Among  the  virtuous  would  you  be  enroll'd  ? 
Your  gentleness  and  prudence  all  behold ; 
You  preach  mere  feeling,  aim  alone  to  charm, 
Too  weak  to  serve,  too  indolent  to  harm  ; 
An  honest,  lazy  man,  you  love  your  ease, 
And,  neither  good  nor  bad,  live  but  to  please. 
No ;  'tis  the  title  of  a  noble  heart 
That  guards  his  friend  against  a  foeman's  art. 
Thy  claim  thereto,  Pellisson,  none  contend. 
Who  Fouquet  in  thy  prison  didst  defend ! 
I  thank  thee.  Heaven,  whose  goodness  never  fail'd 
To  send  me  friends  Avhen  bitterly  assail'd. 
Courageous  friends,  whose  arms  were  ne'er  at  fault 
In  bold  repelling  of  the  sharp  assault 
Of  fierce  fanatics,  critics  full  of  gall. 
Of  ministers  abused,  abusing  all. 
Of  petty  tyrants,  proud  of  their  estate. 
And  whom  my  freedom  served  to  irritate. 
With  such,  for  more  than  forty  years  in  strife. 
True,  virtuous  friends  have  e'er  consoled  my  life. 
Their  constancy  and  zeal  I've  strived  to  earn. 
Some  ingrates  made,  have  not  been  one,  in  turn. 


TRITE   VIRTUE.  319 

A  legislator,'  who  employ'd  his  pen 
In  endless  projects  for  the  good  of  men, 
And  who  for  thirty  years,  unthank'd,  has  wrought, 
Presents  a  word,  by  Vaugelas  not  taught : 
This  word's  beneficence  ;  I  like  it  well, 
For  here,  in  union,  all  the  virtues  dwell. 
Ye  small  grammarians,  sages  among  fools. 
Who  weigh  all  speech  and  measure  words  by  rules ! 
This  may  to  you  a  random  word  appear, 
But  all  the  world  will  cherish  the  idea. 

1  The  Abbe  Saint-Pierre. 


A.   POEM 


UPON 


THE   LAW   OF   ITATUEE 


WITH  PREFACES,  NOTES,  ETC. 


PREFACE 


POEM   UPON  THE  LAW  OF  :^ATURE. 


It  is  generally  known  that  this  poem  was  not  intended  for 
the  public ;  it  remained  three  years  a  secret  between  a  great 
king '  and  the  author.  About  three  months  ago,  a  few  copies 
were  handed  about  at  Paris,  and,  soon  after,  several  editions 
of  it  were  published,  as  incorrect  as  those  of  other  works  by  the 
same  hand. 

It  would  be  no  more  than  justice  to  be  more  indulgent  to  a 
work  forced  out  of  the  obscurity  to  which  the  author  had  con- 
demned it,  than  to  a  work  offered  by  the  writer  himself  to  the 
inspection  of  the  public.  It  would  likewise  be  agreeable  to 
equity  not  to  pass  the  same  judgment  upon  a  poem  composed 
by  a  layman,  as  upon  a  theological  thesis.  These  two  poems  ^ 
are  the  fruits  of  a  transplanted  tree.  Some  of  these  fruits  may, 
perhaps,  not  be  to  the  taste  of  certain  persons ;  they  come 
from  a  foreign  climate,  but  none  of  them  are  poisoned,  and 
many  of  them  may  prove  highly  salutary. 

This  work  should  be  considered  as  a  letter,  in  which  the 
author  freely  discovers  his  sentiments.  Most  books  resemble 
those  formal  and  general  conversations,  in  ^Vtiich  people  seldom 
utter  their  thoughts.     The  author  in  this  poem  declares  his 

1  Frederic  II,  king  of  Prussia. 

«  This  and  the  poem  on  tl}e  Earthquake  at  Lisbon. 


324  PEEFACE   TO   THE 

real  opinions  to  a  philosophical  prince,  with  whom  he  then  had 
the  honor  of  living.  He  has  been  informed  that  persons  of 
the  best  understanding  have  been  pleased  with  this  sketch ; 
they  were  of  opinion  that  the  poem  upon  the  Law  of  Nature 
was  intended  only  to  prepare  the  world  for  truths  more  sub- 
lime. This  consideration  alone  would  have  induced  the  author 
to  render  his  work  more  complete  and  correct,  had  his  infirmi- 
ties permitted.  He  was,  at  last,  obliged  to  content  himself  with 
correcting  the  faults  with  which  the  first  edition  swarms. 

The  praises  bestowed  in  this  w^ork  upon  a  prince,  by  no 
means  solicitous  about  praise,  should  not  surprise  anybody ; 
they  came  from  the  heart ;  they  are  very  diflferent  from  that 
incense  which  self-interestedness  lavishes  upon  power.  The 
man  of  letters  might  not,  perhaps,  have  deserved  the  praises  or 
the  favors  poured  upon  him  by  the  monarch ;  but  the  mon- 
arch was  every  way  deserving  of  the  encomiums  bestowed 
upon  him  in  this  poem  by  the  man  of  letters.  The  change 
which  has  since  happened,  in  a  connection  which  does  so  much 
honor  to  literature,  has  by  no  means  altered  the  sentiments 
which  gave  occasion  to  these  praises. 

In  fine,  since  a  work  never  intended  for  publication  has  been 
snatched  out  of  secrecy  and  obscurity,  it  will  last  among  a  few 
sages  as  a  monument  of  a  philosophical  correspondence,  which 
should  not  have  ended ;  and  if  it  shows  human  weakness 
throughout,  it,  at  the  same  time,  makes  it  appear  that  true 
philosophy  always  surmounts  that  weakness. 

To  conclude,  this  feeble  essay  was  first  occasioned  by  a  little 
pamphlet  which  appeared  at  that  time.  It  was  entitled  "  A 
Treatise  upon  the  Sovereign  Good,"  and  it  should  have  been 
called  "  A  Treatise  upon  the  Sovereign  Evil."  The  author  of  it 
maintained  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  virtue  or  vice  ;  and 
that  remorse  of  conscience  is  a  weakness  owing  to  the  preju- 
dice of  education,  %hich  a  man  should  endeavor  to  subdue. 
The  author  of  the  following  poem  maintains,  that  remorse  of 
conscience  is  as  natural  to  us  as  any  passion  of  the  human 
soul.  If  the  violence  of  passion  hurries  man  into  a  fault,  when 
come  to  himself  he  is  sensible  of  that  fault.     The  wild  girl  who 


LAW    OF   NATURE.  325 

was  found  near  Chalons,'  owned  that,  in  her  passion,  she  gave 
her  companion  a  blow,  of  the  consequence  of  which  the  poor 
creature  died  in  her  arms.  As  soon  as  she  saw  her  blood,  she 
repented,  she  wept,  she  stopped  the  blood,  and  dressed  the 
wound  with  herbs.  Those  who  maintain  that  this  relenting  of 
humanity  is  only  a  branch  of  self-love,  do  that  principle  a  great 
deal  of  honor.  Let  men  call  reason  and  conscience  by  what 
names  they  will,  they  exist,  and  are  the  foundation  of  the  Law 
of  Nature. 

1  See  the  works  of  Louis  Racine  for  details  as  to  the  wild  girl. 


THE  LAW  OF  NATURE. 


A  POEM  IN  FOUR  PARTS. 


EXORDIUM. 


Thou  whose  exploits,  and  works,'  and  reign, 
Will  be  to  sage  and  liero  lesson  plain — 
Who  with  unalter'd  brow  alike  look'st  down 
On  life  and  death,  the  cottage  and  the  crown ; 
With  force  like  thine  my  wavering  soul  inspire — 
Shed  o'er  me  rays  of  that  celestial  fire 
I  Which  owes  to  sacred  reason  all  its  light. 
Which  prejudice,  howe'er,  may  turn  to  night. 
On  darkness,  which  o'erspreads  the  world  below, 
Oh,  be  it  ours  some  light,  though  faint,  to  throw. 
The  first  of  studies  in  our  early  age. 
Were,  I  remember,  Horace,  Boileau's  page. 
In  them  you  sought,  with  philosophic  mind. 
The  true  and  beautiful  at  once  to  find ; 
And  with  instructive  and  with  moral  lines, 

»  We  know  that  tliis  poem,  regarded  as  one  of  our  author's  best  works, 
was  written  about  1751,  at  the  house  of  the  Marchioness  de  Bareuth,  sister 
of  the  King  of  Prussia.  Some  pedants  had,  afterwards  the  vile  atrocity  to 
condemn  it. 

These  vile  tyrants  of  mind  had  then  too  much  credit,  but  have  since 
been  punished  for  all  their  insolence. 


328  THE   LAW   OF   NATURE. 

Brightly  their  finished  composition  shines ; 
But  Pope,  possessed  of  genius  more  profound, 
What  lightly  they  skimm'd  over,  knew  to  sound. 
Light  iflto  the  abyss  of  being  first  he  brought, 
And  man  by  him  to  know  himself  was  taught. 
A  trivial  now,  and  now  a  useful  art. 
Verse  is  in  Pope  divine,  it  forms  the  heart. 
What  need  we  know  that  Horace,  hired  to  praise 
Octavius  in  vile  and  prostituted  lays, 
When  from  the  night's  polluted  joys  he  rose. 
Insulted  Crispin  in  his  measured  prose  ? 
That  pension'd  Boileau  satire's  venom  shed 
On  Quinault's  lyre  and  Tasso's  laureU'd  head ; 
Could  paint  the  hurry,  bustle,  and  the  throng 
Of  Paris,  where  men  scarce  can  pass  along ; 
Or  at  a  wretched  feast  what  happ'd  rehearse, 
In  flowing  numbers  and  harmonious  verse  ? 
A  soul  like  thine  to  higher  themes  aspires. 
And  nourishment  for  loftiest  thought  requires ; 
The  spirit's  essence  thine  it  is  to  explore. 
Its  end,  beginning,  but  its  duty  more. 
See  on  this  point  what  others  wisely  thought. 
What  Error  has  to  vulgar  doctors  taught ! 
Let's  scan  and  balance  with  those  truths  divine, 

^Vhich  Heaven  suggests  to  such  a  soul  as  thine. 

J  God  we  should  search  for  in  ourselves  alone ; 
If  he  exists,  the  human  heart's  his  throne. 
Must  we  then  seek  in  learninfr's  windinoj  maze 
The  God  who  could  us  to  existence  raise  ? 

(Trust  not  to  Origen  or  Scotus'  page, 
Nature  instructs  us  more  than  either  sage ; 
Systems  we'll  drop,  ^ith  follies  of  the  wise, 
And,  into  self  descending,  learn  to  rise. 


THE   LAW    OF   NATURE.  329 


PAKT  I. 

God  has  given  men  ideas  of  justice  and  conscience  to  warn  them,  just 
as  he  has  given  them  every  thing  else  necessary.  This  is  that  Law 
of  Nature  upon  which  religion  is  founded.  This  is  the  only  princi- 
ple herein  discussed.  The  author  speaks  only  of  the  Law  of  Nature, 
and  not  of  religion  and  its  awful  mysteries. 

Whether  a  self-existent'  being  laid 

The  world's  foundations,  out  of  nothing  made  ; 

If,  forming  matter,  o'er  it  lie  presides, 

And  having  shaped  the  mass,  directs  and  guides ; 

Whether  the  soul,  that  bright,  ethereal  spark 

Of  heavenly  fire,  too  oft  obscure  and  dark, 

Be  of  our  senses  one,  or  acts  alone ; 

We  all  are  subject  to  the  Almighty's  throne. 

But  at  His  throne,  round  which  deep  thunders  roar, 

What  homage  shall  we  pay,  how  God  adore  ? 

Can  jealousy  affect  the  eternal  mind  ? 

Will  adulation  there  acceptance  find  ? 

Is  it  that  warlike  race,  of  haughty  brow, 

Who  made  Byzantium  to  their  power  bow, 

'  God  being  an  infinite  being,  his  nature  must  of  consequence  be  un- 
known to  all  men.  As  this  is  a  philosophical  work,  it  was  judged  neces- 
sary to  cite  the  opinion  of  philosophers.  All  the  ancients,  without  excep- 
tion, looked  upon  matter  as  eternal ;  this  is  almost  the  only  point  upon 
which  they  were  agreed.  Most  of  them  maintained  that  God  had  set  the 
world  in  order ;  none  of  them  knew,  that  he  had  created  it  out  of  nothing. 
They  asserted  that  the  celestial  intelligence  was  by  his  nature  endued  with 
a  power  of  arranging  matter,  and  that  matter  was  by  its  nature  self-existent. 

According  to  almost  all  the  philosophers  and  poets,  the  great  gods  dwelt 
at  a  distance  from  the  earth.  The  soul  of  man  was,  in  the  opinion  of  many, 
a  celestial  fire  ;  according  to  others,  it  Avas  a  harmony  resulting  from  the 
organs ;  others  represented  it  as  a  part  of  the  divinity,  dlvince,  particulam 
aiiros, ';  others  a  refined  matter,  or  quintessence ;  the  wisest  considered  it 
as  an  immaterial  being :  but  whatever  sect  they  embraced,  they  acknowl- 
edged that  man  is  in  every  respect  subject  to  the  Deity. 


330  THE   LAW   OF   NATURE. 


The  tranquil  Chinese,  and  the  Tartar  rude, 
Whose  arms  so  many  regions  have  subdued, 
That  rightly  knows  to  praise  the  power  divine, 
And  offer  grateful  homage  at  his  shrine  ? 
Various  in  language  and  religious  lore, 
A  diflferent  deity  they  all  implore ; 
Then  all  have  err'd,  let's  therefore  turn  our  eyes 
From  vile  impostors  who  delight  in  lies :' 
Nor  let  us  vainly  make  attempt  to  sound 
Awful  religion's  mysteries  profound ; 
To  reason  let  researches  vain  give  place, 
Let's  strive  to  know  if  God  instructs  our  race. 
Nature  to  man  has  given  with  bounteous  hand 
Whate'er  his  nature's  cravings  can  demand ; 
Sense's  sure  instinct,  spirit's  varied  springs  : 
To  him  each  element  its  tribute  brings. 
In  the  brain's  foldings  memory  is  placed. 
And  on  it  nature's  lively  image  traced. 
Ready  at  every  motion  of  his  will. 
His  call  external  objects  answer  still ; 
Sound  to  his  ear  is  wafted  by  the  air. 
The  light  he  sees  without  or  pains  or  care. 
As  to  his  God,  the  end  of  human  kind. 
Is  nian  to  ceaseless  errors  then  confined  ? 
Is  nature  then  display 'd  to  mortals'  eyes. 
While  nature's  God  obscure  and  hidden  lies  ? 
Is  succor  in  my  greatest  need  denied  ? 
Must  my  chief  craving  rest  unsatisfied  ? 
No ;  God  in  vain  has  not  his  creatures  made. 
The  hand  divine  on  every  brow's  display'd. 
My  Master's  will  can  never  be  conceal'd ; 


f 


1  Confucius  should  not  be  confounded  with  these ;  he  confined  himself 
to  natural  religion,  and  discovered  every  thing  that  could  be  discovered 
without  the  light  of  revelation. 


TIIP]   LAW   OF   NATURE.  331 

When  lie  gave  being  he  his  law  reveal'd. 

Doubtless  he  spoke,  but  spoke  to  all  mankind ; 

To  Egypt's  deserts  he  was  ne'er  confined. 

In  Delphi,  Delos,  or  the  Sibyl's  cave, 

No  oracle  the  godhead  ever  gave. 

Morality,  unvaried  and  the  same. 

Announces  to  each  age  God's  holy  name. 

'Tis  Trajan's  law,  'tis  Socrates',  'tis  yours  : 

By  nature  preach'd,  like  nature  it  endures ; 

Heason  receives  it,  and  the  keen  remorse. 

Of  conscience  strengthens  it,  and  gives  it  force  ; 
_JtFor  conscience  makes  the  obstinate  repent, 

And  hardest  bosoms  at  her  voice  relent. 
fThink  you,  young  Ammon,  mad  ambition's  slave, 

Not  like  you  moderate,  although  as  brave. 

In  a  friend's  blood,  w^hen  he  his  hands  imbrued, 

By  augurs  to  soft  pity  was  subdued  ? 

Religious  rites  for  gold  they  had  profaned, 

And  wash'd  the  monarch's  hands,  by  murder  stain'd  ; 

But  nature's  instinct  could  not  be  suppress'd, 

And  pleaded  strongly  in  the  monarch's  breast : 

He  could  not  his  impetuous  rage  forgive. 

But  thought  himself  a  wretch  unfit  to  live. 

This  law,  which  bears  in  China  sovereign  sway, 

To  which  fierce  Japanese  due  reverence  pay, 

Fired  Zoroaster's  genius  unconfined. 

And  shed  its  sacred  light  on  Solon's  mind. 

It  cries  from  Indus  to  cold  Zembla's  shore  : 
\L^t^e  just,  thy  country  love,  and  God  adore." 

The  Laplander,  amid  eternal  snows, 

His  God  adores,  and,  what  is  justice,  knows ; 

And  sold  to  distant  coasts,  the  negro  race 

With  joy,  in  others,  negro  features  trace. 

No  slanderer  finds,  no  murderer  ever  knows, 


332  THE   LAW    OF   NATURE. 

The  mind's  calm  sunshine,  and  the  soul's  repose  ; 

Nor  ever  thus  his  secret  thoughts  express'd  : 

"  He  who  destroys  the  innocent  is  bless'd  ; 

Bless'd  he,  by  whom  his  mother's  blood  is  spilt — 

Great  the  attractions  and  the  charms  of  guilt " 

Believe  me,  mortals,  man  with  dauntless  brow 

Would  openly  such  sentiments  avow, 

If  there  was  not  a  universal  law 

Crimes  to  repress,  and  keep  the  world  in  awe. 

Did  men  create  the  sense  of  guilt  or  shame  ? 

Their  soul  and  faculties  did  mortals  frame  ? 

Whether  in  Peru  or  in  China  flame 

The  golden  heaps,  their  nature  is  the  same  ; 

From  the  artist's  hands  new  forms  the  ingots  take, 

(But  he  who  shapes,  unable  is  to  make  : 

I  Thus  God,  to  whom  each  man  his  being  owes, 

j  In  every  heartj;he  seeds  of  yjr^.^io  smvs. 

/  True  virtue  by  the  Almighty  first  was  made, 

I  By  man  its  counterfeit  and  empty  shade ; 

I  He  may  disguise  the  truth  with  errors  vain, 

I  His  feelings  an  attempt  to  change  restrain. 


PAET    II. 


Containing  answers  to  the  objections  against  Universal  Moralit)',  with 
a  demonstration  of  that  truth. 

Cardan  and  famed  Spinosa  both  reply  : 
"  This  check  of  conscience,  nature's  boasted  cry. 
From  mutual  wants  and  habit  takes  its  rise  ; 
'Tis  these  cement  our  friendships  and  our  ties." 


f 

THE   LAW    OF   NATUKE.  333 

Foe  to  thyself,  0  sophist,  weak  and  blind, 

Whence  springs  this  want  ?  why  did  the  Sovereign  Mind 

Make  in  the  bosom  of  all  mortals  dwell 
^nstincts  which  to  society  impel  ? 

The  laws  which  man  enacts  soon  pass  away,  t. 

In  all  lands  different,  made  but  for  a  day. 

Jacob  two  Hebrew  sisters  took  to  wife ; 

David,  not  shocking  decency  of  life, 

Gather'd  a  hundred  beauties  round  his  throne  ; 

But  Latran's  ruler  cannot  have  e'en  one. 

Here  choice  of  heirs  is  wholly  left  to  sires, 

While  birthright  there  the  whole  estate  acquires  : 

A  whisker'd  Polander  need  but  command, 

And  all  the  wheels  of  State  come  to  a  stand. 

Electors  must  the  emperor  sustain. 

The  pope  has  dignity,  the  English,  gain. 

Worship,  law,  interests,  variations  know ; 
f  Virtue's  alone  unchangeable  below.' 

But  while  this  moral  beauty  we  admire, 

See,  on  a  scaffold,  Britain's  king  expire. 

Borgia  the  blade  against  his  brother  aims, 

Nor  heeds  the  sister,  who  his  mercy  claims. 

There  the  Dutch  rabble,  roused  to  frantic  rage, 

Two  brothers  tear,  the  worthies  of  their  age. 

In  France,  Brinvilliers,  constant  still  at  prayers, 

Poisons  her  sire,  and  to  the  priest  repairs  ; 

The  just  is  by  the  wicked's  force  subdued ; 

Hence,  do  you  virtue  but  a  name  conclude  ? 
•  When  with  the  baleful  south  wind's  tainted  breath. 

All  nature  sickens,  and  each  gale  is  death. 


»  It  is  evident  that  variations  are  here  ascribed  only  to  institutions,  such 
as  civil  laws  and  discipline,  which  are  altered  every  day,  as  occasion  re- 
quires. 


134  THE   LAW   OF  NATCBE. 


Will  you  maintain,  that  since  the  world  began, 
Health  never  yet  was  known  to  dwell  with  man  ? 
The  various  pests  that  poison  human  life, 
The  sad  results  of  elemental  strife, 
Oft  mar  the  bliss  of  mortals  here  below ; 

(But  all  is  transient  here,  e'en  guilt  and  woe. 
Soon  as  our  passions  fierce  subside  and  cool. 
Our  hearts  assent  to  every  moral  rule. 
The  source  is  pure ;  the  furious  winds  in  vain 
Disturb  its  waves,  or  rushing  torrents  stain ; 
The  mud  that  on  its  surface  flows,  refines, 
And  by  degrees  the  watery  mirror  shines ; 
The  worst  man  there,  fierce  as  the  storm  before, 
His  image  sees  when  once  its  rage  is  o'er. 
/  The  light  of  reason  Heaven  gave  not  in  vain 
I  To  man,  but  added  conscience  to  restrain. 
The  springs  of  sense  are  moved  by  her  command  ; 
Who  hears  her  voice  is  sure  to  understand  : 
To  minds  by  passion  sway'd,  though  free  before. 
She  still  an  equilibrium  can  restore ; 
1  She  kindles  in  each  breast  a  generous  flame, 
^nd  makes  self-love  and  social  love  the  same. 
This  spirit  'twas  who  Socrates  did  guide, 
And  over  all  his  actions  did  preside. 
Whose  presence  simply  could  his  fears  control, 
And  give  him  strength  to  drink  the  poison'd  bowl. 
And  was  such  influence  to  the  sage  confined  ? 
No ;  God  provides  for  all  a  Mentor  kind  : 
And  thus,  five  years  was  Nero's  fury  quell'd. 
Five  years  the  voice  of  flattery  he  repell'd. 
So  good  Aurelius,  with  strength  supplied. 
Like  a  philosopher  both  lived  and  died. 
Julian,  bewilder'd  in  religion's  ways. 
To  faith  a  rebel,  reason  sole  obeys. 


THE   LAW    OF   NATUEl 

The  Clmrcli's  scandal,  but  of  kings  the  pride, 
Ne'er  from  the  I/aw  pf  Nature  turn'd  aside. 
But  cavillers  who  plain  truth  will  never  own, 
Still  cry  :  To  infants  reason  is  unknown ; 
The  power  of  education  forms  the  mind, 
Man  still  to  copy  others,  is  inclined ; 
Nothing  peculiar  actuates  his  heart, 
Others  he  apes,  and  acts  a  borrow'd  part ; 
Sounds  high  the  name  of  justice,  duty  too; 
Acts  as  a  mere  machine ;  and  taking  nurse's  view, 
He's  Turk  or  Jew,  Pagan  or  Child  of  Grace, 
Coated  or  fezzed,  according  to  his  race. 
I  know  example  influence  acquires 
O'er  man ;  that  habit  sentiment  inspires. 
Speech,  fashions,  and  the  mind's  unbounded  range 
Of  mad  opinions,  subject  still  to  change. 
Are  feeble  traces  by  our  sires  impress'd. 
With  mortal  signet  on  each  human  breast. 
But  the  first  springs  are  made  by  God's  own  hand ; 
'  Of  source  divine,  they  shall  forever  stand. 
To  practise  them  the  child  a  man  must  grow ; 
Their  force  he  cannot  in  the  cradle  know. 
Do  sparrows,  when  they  first  behold  the  light. 
Indulge  in  every  amorous  delight  ? 
Do  new-born  foxes  instant  seek  a  prey  ? 
Do  changing  insects  spin  their  silken  way. 
Or  do  the  humming  swarms,  whose  artful  skill 
Can  wax  compose,  and  honey's  sweets  distil. 
Soon  as  they  see  the  day,  their  work  produce  ? 
Time  ripens,  and  brings  all  things  into  use. 
All  beings  have  their  object,  and  they  tend 
At  a  fix'd  period  to  their  destined  end. 
Passion,  'tis  true,  may  hurry  us  along. 
Sometimes  the  just  may  deviate  into  wrong. 


336  THE   LAW    OF   NATURE. 

Oft  man  from  good  to  hated  evil  flies, 

None  in  all  moments,  virtuous  are,  or  wise. 

We're  told,  that  man's  a  mystery  o'er  and  o'er ; 

All  nature  as  mysterious  is,  or  more. 

Philosophers,  sagacious  and  profound. 

The  beasts'  sure  instinct  could  you  ever  sound  ? 

The  nature  of  the  grass  can  you  explain. 

That  dies,  then,  rising,  spreads  a  verdant  plain  ? 

This  world  a  veil  o'erspreads  of  darkest  night. 

If  through  the  deep  obscure,  the  glimmering  light 

Of  reason  serves  to  guide  us  on  our  way. 

Should  we  extinguish  it,  and  go  astray  ? 

When  God  first  fill'd  the  vast  expanse  of  sky. 

Bid  oceans  flow  and  kindled  suns  on  high. 

He  said  :  Be  in  your  limits  fix'd  contain'd. 

And  in  their  bounds  the  rising  worlds  remain'd ; 

On  Venus  and  on  Saturn  laws  he  laid. 

So  all  the  orbs  of  which  our  system's  made. 

On  jarring  elements  that  still  contend. 

On  rolling  thunders  that  the  ether  rend, 

On  man  created  to  adore  his  power. 

And  on  the  worm  that  shall  man's  flesh  devour, 

Shall  man,  audaciously,  with  effort  vain. 

His  own  laws'  add  to  those  the  heavens  ordain  ? 

Should  we,  the  phantoms  of  a  day,  at  most, 

Who  scarcely  can  a  real  existence  boast, 

Place  ourselves  on  the  throne,  at  God's  right  hand, 

And  strive  to  share  with  him  supreme  command  ? 


'  By  the  word  laws  in  this  place,  are  meant  only  the  transient  opinions 
of  men,  who  would  make  their  peculiar  sentiments  pass  for  general  laws. 


THE    LAW    OF   NATURE.  337 


PAET  III. 

Shows,  that  as  men  have  for  the  most  part  disfigured,  by  the  various 
opinions  whicli  they  have  adopted,  the  principle  of  natural  religion 
which  unites  them,  they  should  mutually  bear  with  each  other. 

The  universe  is  God's  eternal  shrine, 
Men '  various  ways  adore  the  power  divine. 
All,  of  tlieir  faith,  their  saints,  their  martyr'd  host. 
And  oracle's  unerring  voice,  can  boast. 
On  numerous  ablutions  one  relies — 
He  thinks  Heaven  sees  them  with  propitious  eyes ; 
xA.nd  that  all  those  who  are  not  circumcised, 
Are  by  his  God  rejected  and  despised. 
Another  thinks  he  Brahma's  favor  gains. 
While  he  from  eating  rabbit's  ftesh  abstains ; 
Among  the  bless'd  above  he  hopes  a  seat, 
The  just  reward  of  merit  so  complete. 
Against  their  neighbors  all  alike  declaim. 
And  brand  them  with  the  unbeliever's  name. 
The  jars  amid  contending  Christians  bred, 
More  desolation  through  the  world  have  spread, 
Pour'd  forth  more  blood,  oped  more  ensanguined  graves 
j^n  His  dread  name,  whose  mercy  all  men  saves, 
r  Than  the  vain  pretext  of  well-balanced  powers, 
J   E'er  brought  on  Herman's  land  or  France's  flowers. 
See  an  inquisitor,  with  air  benign, 
His  neighbor's  body  to  the  flames  consign  ; 
Much  sorrow  at  the  tragic  scene  he  shows, 
But  takes  the  money  to  assuage  his  woes ; 

1  Men  in  this  place  means  individuals  who  have  set  themselves  up  as 
legislators ;  and  the  passage  relates  only  to  foreign  forms  of  worship,  as 
has  been  declared  in  the  beginning  of  the  first  part. 

15 


338  THE    LAW    OF   NATURE. 

While,  touch'd  with  zeal,  religious  crowds  advance, 

And,  praising  God,  around  the  victim  dance. 

Blind  zeal  could  oft  good  Catholics  excite, 

At  leaving  mass,  to  hurry  to  the  fight, 

And,  threatening  each  his  neighbor,  loudly  cry 

"  Wretch,  think  like  me,  or  in  an  instant  die." 

From  Paris,  Calvin  and  his  sect  withdrew. 

And  at  their  eflSgies  the  hangman  flew. 

Servetus,  born  in  torments  to  expire. 

By  Calvin's  self  was  sentenced  to  the  fire. 

But  had  Servetus  been  of  power  possess'd, 

The  Trinitarians  would  have  been  the  oppressed ; 

Quickly  had  ended  all  the  warm  dispute, 

For  halters  can  the  obstinate  confute. 

Thus  sectaries,  who  'gainst  Arminius  rose. 

Bent  all  his  tenets  warmly  to  oppose. 

In  Flanders  gain'd  the  martyr's  glorious  name, 

Jn  Holland  executioners  became. 

'hy,  for  so  many  years,  with  pious  rage, 
Religious  wars  did  our  forefathers  wage  ? 
'rom  nature's  laws  allegiance  they  withdrew, 

lOr  added  others  dangerous  as  new  ; 

'And  man,  to  his  own  sense  an  abject  slave. 
To  God  his  weakness  and  his  passions  gave. 
To  Him  ascribed  the  faults  of  human  kind, 
And  made  Him  fickle,  false,  to  rage  inclined ; 
But  Reason,  thanks  to  heaven,  in  these  our  days, 
O'er  half  the  globe  diffuses  kindly  rays ; 
Man,  at  her  voice  persuasive,  grows  humane  ; 
No  piles  are  lighted,  blood  no  altar  stains. 
Should  bigotry,  howe'er,  once  more  have  rein, 
With  c^TRK  rage  those  fires  would  burn  again. 
We  make,  'tis  true,  our  generous  efibrts  tend, 
Less  often  brethren  to  the  stake  to  send. 


THE    LAW   OF   NATURE.  339 

Less  horrid  deeds  fanatic  thoughts  inspire ' — 

At  Lisbon,  fewer  Jews  in  flames  expire. 

Less  oft  is  heard  the  Mufti's  dreadful  strain, 

"  Slave,  follow  Mahomet,  from  wine  refrain !"  / 

But  dog^  for  us  is  still  the  Mufti's  terra. 

That  hell's  our  portion  he  will  still  affirm. 

We  pay  them  back :  and  in  a  trice  we  damn 

The  Turk,  who  bears  from  many  a  king  the  palm, 

London,  Berlin,  Geneva,  each  and  all, 

Nor  from  God's  curse,  e'en  you,  0  king,  recall. 

In  vain,  your  goodness  is,  each  day,  display'd, 

In  vain,  all  human  kind  you  shield  and  aid. 

You  people  and  improve  the  barren  plain. 

Arts  cultivate,  asylums  build  in  vain  : 

For  confidently  many  doctors  say,^ 

That  you  from  Beelzebub  derive  your  sway. 

The  pagan  virtues  were  but  crimes  at  best. 
Oh,  maxim  which  all  generous  souls  detest ! 
Base  journalist,  who,  with  malignant  mind, 
Think'st  thyself  authorized  to  damn  mankind  ; 
Thou  seest  with  joy  God  human  beings  frame, 

1  When  tills  poem  was  written,  the  author  could  not  foresee  that  flames 
were  to  destroy  a  great  part  of  that  unhappy  city  in  which  fagots  were 
too  often  kindled. 

3  It  is  common  with  the  Turks  to  give  the  appellation  of  dog  and  infidel 
to  the  Christians. 

3  We  respect  the  maxim,  Extra  ecclesiam  nulla  est  sahis,  There  is  no  sal- 
vation out  of  the  Church ;  yet  all  men  of  sense  look  upon  it  as  both  ridicu- 
lous and  abominable  for  private  individuals  to  thunder  such  an  anathema 
against  men  their  superiors  and  masters  in  every  respect :  this  is  not  like 
tiie  procedure  of  reasonable  men.  Archbishop  Tillotson  would  never 
have  written  in  these  terms  to  the  Archbishop  of  Cambray,  Sir^  you  are 
damned.  A  king  of  Portugal  would  not  have  written  in  this  manner  to  a 
king  of  England,  who  should  send  him  aid.  Brother,  you  will  certainly  go 
to  hell.  The  menace  of  eternal  damnation  to  those  who  do  not  think  like 
us,  is  like  a  weapon  deposited  in  an  arsenal  by  the  Church,  and  no  indi- 
vidual is  allowed  to  make  use  of  it. 


340  THE    LAW    OF    NATURE. 

Satan  to  glut,  and  burn  with  endless  flame ! 
Is*t  not  enough,  thou  shouldst  at  once  consign 
Montaigne  and  Montesquieu  to  wrath  divine  ? 
Shall  Aristides,  Socrates  the  sage, 
Solon,  the  guide  and  model  of  his  age, 
Aurelius,  Trajan,  Titus  dear  to  fame. 
Against  whom  thou  dost  bitterly  declaim, 
Be  cast  into  the  depths  of  burning  hell. 
By  the  just  Being,  whom  they  served  so  well  ? 
And  wilt  thou  be  in  heaven  with  glory  crown'd, 
While  crowds  of  cherubims  thy  throne  surround, 
Because  for  years  a  wallet  thou  didst  bear. 
In  ignorance  slept,  and  sackcloth  foul  didst  wear  ? 
Be  blest  above,  with  souls  no  war  I  wage  ; 
But  why  should  Newton,  wonder  of  this  age, 
Leibnitz  profound,  and  Addison,  whose  mind 
With  learning  fraught,  and  by  true  taste  refined- 
Locke,'  first  our  mind's  conception  to  explain, 


>  It  is  well  known  that  the  wise  and  modest  Locke  discovered  the  whole 
progress  of  the  human  \mderstanding,  and  pointed  out  the  limits  of  its 
power.  Fully  convinced  of  human  weakness,  and  sensible  of  the  infinite 
power  of  the  Creator,  he  says  that  we  have  no  knowledge  of  the  nature  of 
our  souls  but  from  faith  :  he  says  that  man  is  not  sufficiently  enlightened 
to  assert  that  God  could  not  communicate  thought  to  any  being  what- 
ever, and  even  to  matter  itself. 

Those  who  were  still  immersed  in  ignorance  rose  up  in  arms  against  him. 
Infatuated  with  a  Cartesianism  as  false  in  every  respect  as  Peripateticism 
itself,  they  were  of  opinion  that  matter  is  nothing  else  but  extent  in  length, 
breadth,  and  depth  ;  they  did  not  know  that  it  is  endued  with  the  property 
of  gravitating  towards  a  centre,  the  vis  inertice,  and  many  more  ;  that  its 
elements  are  indivisible,  though  its  component  parts  may  be  divided  ad 
infinitum.  They  limited  the  power  of  the  Supreme  Being  ;  they  did  not 
reflect  that,  notwithstanding  all  the  discoveries  that  have  been  made  con- 
cerning the  nature  of  matter,  we  are  still  in  the  dark  as  to  its  essence. 
They  should  have  taken  it  into  consideration,  that  it  has  been  long  de- 
bated whether  the  human  understanding  be  a  faculty  or  substance.  They 
ehould  have  examined  themselves,  and  they  would  have  been  sensible 
that  our  understandings  are  too  limited  to  sound  this  abyss. 

The  faculty  of  moving,  which  beasts  have,  is  not  a  substance,  a  being 


THE    LAW    OF   NATUKF^ 


341 


And  understanding's  limits  ascertain — 
Men  whom  the  God  supreme  deign'd  to  inspire, 
Wherefore  should  these  be  doom'd  to  penal  fire  ? 
In  judging,  be  more  temperate  and  cool, 


ill  itself;  it  appears  to  be  a  gift  of  the  Creator.  Locke  lias  advanced 
that  the  same  Creator  may  confer  the  gift  of  thinking  upon  whatever  being 
lie  thinks  proper.  According  to  this  hypothesis,  which  subjects  us  more 
than  any  other  to  the  Supreme  Being,  thought  added  to  any  element  of 
matter  is  not  less  pure  or  less  immortal  than  it  is  supposed  to  be  in  any 
other  system.  That  indivisible  element  is  imperishable ;  thought  may, 
doubtless,  exist  with  it  to  all  eternity,  after  the  body  is  dissolved.  This 
is  what  Locke  offers  to  our  consideration,  without  affirming  any  thing. 
He  speaks  of  what  God  might  have  done,  and  not  of  what  he  has  done. 
He  does  not  pretend  to  know  what  matter  is  :  he  acknowledges  that,  be- 
tween it  and  God,  there  may  be  an  infinity  of  created  substances  totally 
different  from  each  other  ;  in  fact,  light,  elementary  fire,  as  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton has  observed  in  his  Frincijna,  seems  to  hold  the  middle  place  between 
the  unknown  being  called  matter,  and  other  beings  still  more  unknown. 
Light  does  not  tend  to  a  centre  like  matter;  it  does  not  seem  to  be  im- 
penetrable ;  accordingly,  Newton  often  repeats,  in  his  Optics,  ''  I  do  not 
enter  into  the  q^uestion,  whether  the  rays  of  light  are  bodies  or  not." 

Locke  has  advanced  that  there  may  be  an  infinite  number  of  substances, 
and  that  God  may  communicate  ideas  to  these  substances.  We  cannot 
conjecture  by  what  art  divine  any  being  can  form  ideas  ;  we  are  very  far 
from  such  a  degree  of  penetration  ;  we  shall  never  know  how  an  earth- 
worm can  be  capable  of  motion.  In  all  these  researches,  we  should  look 
up  to  God,  and  acknowledge  our  weakness.  Such  is  Mr.  Locke's  philoso- 
phy, as  grand  as  it  is  simple  ;  and  this  submission  to  God  men  have  pre- 
sumed to  treat  as  impiety  ;  his  followers,  convinced  of  the  immortality  of 
the  soul,  have  been  called  Materialists  ;  and  such  a  man  as  Locke  has  been 
censured  as  tedious,  by  the  compiler  of  a  treatise  upon  Physics. ^ 

Granting  even  that  Locke  was  mistaken  in  this  point  (if  he  can  be  mis- 
taken who  affirms  nothing),  he  is  not  the  less  deserving  of  the  praise  be- 
stowed on  him  here  ;  he  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  first  who  has  made  it  appear 
that  Ave  are  not  acquainted  with  any  axiom,  till  we  know  the  particular 
truths  that  enter  into  it ;  he  is  the  first  who  has  shown  in  what  entity  con- 
sists ;  what  it  is  to  be  the  same  person,  the  same  self;  he  is  the  first  who 
has  proved  the  system  of  innate  ideas  to  be  false.  IJpon  this  occasion,  I 
cannot  help  observing,  that  certain  schools  pronounced  anathemas  against 
innate  ideas,  when  they  were  established  by  Descartes,  and  afterwards 
pronounced  other  anathemas  against  the  adversaries  of  innate  ideas,  when 
Locke  had  shown  them  to  be  absurd.  Thus  do  men  judge  when  they  are 
not  philosophers. 


1  Pluche.  autlior  of  Spectacle  de  la  Mature. 


342  THE   LAW   OF   NATURE. 

Teach  not  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule  ; 
To  judge  severely  such  great  men,  beware, 
And  those  who  ne'er  condemn'd  thee,  learn  to  spare. 
Religion,  well  observed,  will  quell  thy  rage. 
And  make  thee  mild,  compassionate,  and' sage  ;  • 
Drown  others  not,  but  try  the  port  to  find. 
He's  right  who  pardons,  but  the  angry  blind. 
Sons  of  one  God,  in  these  our  days  of  woe. 
Let's  live  like  brothers  while  we  dwell  below. 
J  Let's  strive  to  lend  each  other  kind  relief. 
We  groan  beneath  a  load  of  woes  and  grief: 
Against  our  lives  a  thousand  foes  lay  wait, 
Our  lives,  which  we  at  once  both  love  and  hate  : 
Some  guide,  some  prop,  our  wavering  hearts  require, 
With  languor  chill'd,  or  burn'd  with  strong  desire. 
Tears  by  the  happiest  mortals  have  been  shed. 
All  have  their  share  of  anxious  care  and  dread. 
If  kind  society  her  succors  lend. 
Her  joys  awhile  our  griefs  and  cares  suspend, 
Yet  even  here  a  weak  resource  we  find, 
'Gainst  grief,  that  ever  rankles  in  the  mind. 
Dash  not  the  cup  in  which  our  comforts  flow, 
Do  not  corrupt  the  balm  of  human  woe. 
Felons,  methinks,  I  in  a  dungeon  spy, 
Wlio  at  their  fellow's  throats  with  fury  fly ; 
And  though  they  could  relieve  each  other's  pains, 
Forever  jar  and  combat  with  their  chains. 


THE   LAW    OF   NATUKE.  343 


PAET   lY. 

Proves  that  it  is  the  business  of  the  government  to  put  an  end  to  the 
unhappy  disputes  of  the  schools,  by  which  the  peace  of  society  is 
disturbed. 

I  OFT  have  heard  it  from  your  lips  august : 

'Tis  the  grand  duty,  doubtless,  to  be  just ; 

And  the  first  blessing  is  the  heart's  repose. 

How  could  you,  where  so  many  sects  oppose, 

Amid  incessant  wrangling  and  debate. 

Preserve  a  peace  so  lasting  in  the  State  ? 

Whence  is  it  Calvin's  sons  and  Luther's,  tell, 

Deem'd  o'er  the  Alps  the  devil's  offspring  fell ; 

Roman  and  Greek,  and  those  who  quiet  seek, 

The  broad-brimmed  Quaker,  Anabaptist  meek, 

Who  in  their  law  could  never  yet  agree, 

Are  all  united  in  the  praise  of  thee  ? 

'Tis  because  nature  form'd  thee  for  the  throne  ; 

Like  thee  to  rule  had  the  last  Valois  known. 

No  prior-directed  monk,  with  fury  fired. 

To  rival  Judith  and  Aod  aspired ; 

Ne'er  on  the  king  his  hands  profane  had  laid  ; 

But  Valois  edged  the  church's '  murderous  blade, 

That  blade  by  which,  though  subject  crowds  stood  round, 

Great  Henry  after  fell,  for  worth  renown'd. 

Such  cursed  eff'ects  from  pious  quarrels  flow, 

Or  soon  or  late  all  factions  bloody  grow  ; 

1  "We  are  not  by  the  word  church,  in  this  place,  to  understand  the  Cath- 
olic Church  ;  nothing  is  here  alluded  to  but  the  abominable  fanaticism  of 
some  ecclesiastics,  detested  by  the  Church  in  all  ages. 


34:4:  THE   LAW    OF   NATURE. 

Quickly  they  spread,  and  strength  acquire,  if  prized, 

But  quickly  sink  to  nothing  if  despised. 

lie  who  can  armies  lead  against  the  foe, 

To  govern  perverse  priests  should  fully  know. 

The  king,  whose  arms  left  heroes  in  the  shade, 

A  sly  confessor  did  indeed  persuade 

That  Quesnel  or  that  Jansen  threats  the  State, 

And  'gainst  them  rouse  the  monarch's  direful  hate. 

See  thence  arise  great  factions  fill'd  with  ire. 

Judges  stone  blind  become,  lawyers  conspire  ; 

Then  Jesuits,  capuchins,  and  cordeliers, 

Fill  the  whole  realm  with  scruples  and  with  fears  ; 

But  by  the  regent  laughing-stocks  once  made,* 

They'd  quickly  sink  into  oblivion's  shade. 

The  Master's  eye,  with  his  unwearied  hand. 
Can  every  thing  desirable  command. 
Who  cultivates,  within  the  well-fenced  field. 
The  treasures  which  the  spring  and  autumn  yield. 
Can  water,  earth,  sun's  various  gifts  bestow. 
Upon  the  trees  that  in  his  gardens  grow ; 
On  slender  props  the  feeble  branch  he  rears, 
And  from  the  ground  the  useless  plants  up-tears ; 
Or  prunes  them  when  they  too  luxuriant  shoot. 
And  drain  of  needful  sap  the  trunk  and  root. 
His  lands  afford  him  all  ke  can  desire, 
I  The  laws  of  nature  with  his  toil  conspire; 
A  tree  which  he  has  planted  with  his  hand. 
Is  sure,  with  others,  to  enrich  the  land  ; 
And  all  the  planter's  cares  are  well  repaid 

»  This  ridicule,  the  sense  of  which  is  i;niversal  among  all  nations,  falls 
upon  great  intrigues  occasioned  by  trifles,  upon  the  inveterate  animosity 
of  two  parties,  which  could  never  agree  with  regard  to  the  sense  of  four 
thousand  printed  volumes. 


(' 


THE    LAW    OF   NATURE.  345 

With  luscious  fruits  and  with  a  grateful  shade. 

A  neighboring  gard'ner,  hy  mean  vengeance  driven, 

Can  ne'er  upon  him  bring  the  ire  of  heaven, 

Can  ne'er,  by  curses,  make  his  fruits  decay. 

Or  vines  and  fig-trees  wither  all  away. 

Wretched  those  nations  where  laws  still  contend ! 
\rheir  jarring  factions  never  can  have  end  : 

The  Roman  Senate,  watchful  o'er  the  State, 

Morals  and  rites  intent  to  regulate, 

Set  to  the  vestals'  number  its  due  bound, 

Nor  sufFer'd  bacchanals  to  range  around. 

Aurelius,  Trajan,  princes  of  renown. 

The  pontiff's  bonnet  wore,  and  emperor's  crown. 

The  world  depended  on  their  care  alone. 

And  the  schools'  vain  disputes  were  then  unknown  : 

Those  legislators,  with  sage  maxims  fraught. 

Ne'er  for  their  sacred  hens  with  fury  fought, 
^ee  Rome  e'en  now  by  maxims  such  command, 
I  And  throne  with  altar,  wisely  join'd,  command  ; 

Her  citizens  enjoy  serene  repose, 

More  bless'd  than  when  they  crush'd  a  thousand  foes. 

,Not  that  I  think  kings  should  the  mitre  wear, 

And  the  cross  jointly  with  the  sceptre  bear ; 

Or  when  they  come  from  council  should,  aloud. 

Utter  their  benediction  to  the  crowd ; 

But  I  assert  that  kings,  when  they  are  crown'd, 

To  maintain  order  are  by  duty  bound, 

That  their  authority's  o'er  all  the  same,' 

That  all  their  fatherly  protection  claim. 

The  trader,  workman,  soldier,  priest  sedate. 


J  It  should  not  be  inferred  from  hence,  that  every  order  in  the  State  has 
not  its  peculiar  distinctions,  its  privileges  inseparably  annexed  to  its  par- 
ticular functions.  In  all  countries  the  various  orders  of  a  State  enjoy  their 
several  privileges :  but  they  are  all  equally  bound  by  the  general  law. 

150 


346  THE   LAW   OF   NATURE. 

Are  all  alike  true  members  of  the  State. 
Religious  ordinances  level  all, 
The  rich  and  poor,  the  great  as  well  as  small ; 
Equal  authority  has  civil  law, 
This  keeps  both  citizens  and  priests  in  awe. 
In  every  State  the  law  should  sovereign  stand, 
Extend  o'er  all  the  same  impartial  hand. 
Farther  to  treat  of  such  points  I  decline, 
Ne'er  for  the  cro\vn  design'd  this  soul  of  mine ; 
But  from  the  port,  where  now  my  life  I  close. 
In  tranquil  happiness  and  calm  repose. 
Seeing  the  storms  that  all  around  me  rage, 
I  with  your  lessons  moralize  my  page. 
From  this  discourse  what  inference  shall  we  draw  ? 
That  prejudice  to  fools  alone  gives  law ; 
We  should  not  for  it  with  fierce  rage  contend. 
Earth  teems  with  error,  truths  from  heaven  descend ; 
And  amid  thistles  which  obstruct  the  way. 
The  sage  finds  paths  that  cannot  lead  astray. 
pPeace,  which  man  wishes,  while  he  from  it  flies, 
jAs  much  as  sacred  truth,  should  mortals  prize. 

PRAYER. 

O  God,  misunderstood,  whom  all  proclaims, 
Hear  the  last  words  my  humble  mouth  now  frames : 
If  I  mistook,  'twas  while  thy  law  I  sought — 
I  may  have  err'd,  but  thou  wast  in  each  thought ; 
Fearless  I  look  beyond  the  opening  grave. 
And  cannot  think  the  God,  who  being  gave, 
The  God,  whose  favors  made  my  bliss  o'erflow, 
Has  doom'd  me,  after  death,  to  endless  woe. 


A.   I>OE]Sd: 


UPON  THE 


DESTRUCTION  OF  LISBON. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


If  the  question  concerning  physical  evil  ever  deserves  the 
attention  of  men,  it  is  in  those  melancholy  events  which  put 
us  in  mind  of  the  weakness  of  our  nature  :  such  as  plagues, 
which  carry  off  a  quarter  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  known 
world;  the  earthquake  which  swalloAved  up  four  hundred 
thousand  of  the  Chinese  in  1699,  that  of  Lima  and  Callao, 
and,  in  the  last  place,  that  of  Portugal,  and  the  kingdom  of 
Fez.  The  maxim.  Whatever  is,  is  right,  appears  somewhat 
extraordinary  to  those  who  have  been  eye-witnesses  of  such 
calamities.  All  things  are  doubtless  arranged  and  set  in  order 
by  Providence  ;  but  it  has  long  been  too  evident  that  its  super- 
intending power  has  not  disposed  them  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  promote  our  temporal  happiness. 

When  the  celebrated  Pope  published  his  Ussay  on  Mar>, 
and  expounded  in  immortal  verse  the  systems  of  Leibnitz,  Lord 
Shaftesbury,  and  Lord  Bolingbroke,  his  system  Avas  attacked  by 
a  multitude  of  divines  of  a  variety  of  communions ;  they  were 
shocked  at  the  novelty  of  the  propositions,  Whatever  is,  is 
right,  and  that  Man  always  enjoys  that  measure  of  hajjpiness 
2vhich  is  suited  to  his  being.  There  are  few  writings  that  may 
not  be  condemned,  if  considered  in  one  light,  or  approved  of, 
if  considered  in  another.  It  would  be  much  more  reasonable 
to  attend  only  to  the  beauties  and  improving  parts  of  a  work, 
than  to  endeavor  to  put  an  odious  construction  upon  it ;  but  it 
is  one  of  the  imperfections  of  our  nature  to  put  a  bad  interpre- 
tation upon  whatever  has  a  dubious  sense,  and  to  run  down 
wdiatever  has  been  successful. 


350 

In  a  word,  it  was  the  opinion  of  many,  that  the  axiom, 
Whatever  is,  is  right,  -was  subversive  of  all  our  received  ideas. 
If  it  be  true,  said  they,  that  whatever  is,  is  right,  it  follows, 
that  human  nature  did  not  fall.  If  the  general  order  re- 
quires that  every  thing  should  be  as  it  is,  human  nature  has 
not  been  corrupted,  and  consequently  could  have  had  no  occa- 
sion for  a  Redeemer.  If  this  world,  such  as  it  is,  be  the  best 
of  systems  possible,  we  have  no  room  to  hope  for  a  happy 
future  state.  If  the  various  evils,  by  which  man  is  over- 
whelmed, end  in  general  good,  all  civilized  nations  have  been 
wrong  in  endeavoring  to  trace  out  the  origin  of  moral  and 
physical  evil.  If  a  man  devoured  by  wild  beasts,  causes  the 
well-being  of  those  beasts,  and  contributes  to  promote  the  order 
of  the  universe ;  if  the  misfortunes  of  individuals  are  only  the 
consequence  of  this  general  and  necessary  order,  we  are  nothing 
more  than  wheels  which  serve  to  keep  the  great  machine  in 
motion ;  we  are  not  more  precious  in  the  eyes  of  God,  than 
the  animals  by  whom  we  are  devoured. 

These  are  the  inferences  which  were  drawn  from  Mr.  Pope's 
poem ;  and  these  very  conclusions  increased  the  sale  and  suc- 
cess of  the  work.  But  it  should  have  been  seen  in  another 
point  of  view.  Readers  should  have  considered  the  reverence 
for  the  Deity,  the  resignation  to  his  supreme  will,  the  useful 
morality,  and  the  spirit  of  toleration,  which  breathe  through 
this  excellent  poem.  This  the  public  has  done ;  and  the  work 
being  translated  by  men  equal  tb  the  task,  has  completely  tri- 
umphed over  critics,  though  it  turned  upon  matters  of  so  deli- 
cate a  nature. 

It  is  the  nature  of  over-violent  censurers  to  give  importance 
to  the  opinions  which  they  attack.  A  book  is  railed  at  on 
account  of  its  success,  and  a  thousand  errors  are  imputed  to  it. 
What  is  the  consequence  of  this  ?  Men,  disgusted  with  these 
invectives,  take  for  truths  the  very  errors  which  these  critics 
think  they  have  discovered.  Cavillers  raise  the  phantoms  on 
purpose  to  combat  them,  and  indignant  readers  embrace  these 
very  phantoms. 

Critics  have  declared,  that  Pope  and  Leibnitz  maintain  the 


351 

doctrine  of  fatality ;  the  partisans  of  Leibnitz  and  Pope  have 
said,  on  the  other  hand,  if  Leibnitz  and  Pope  have  taught  the 
doctrine  of  fatality,  they  were  in  the  right,  and  all  this  invin- 
cible fatality  we  should  believe. 

Pope  had  advanced,  that  whatever  is,  is  rigid,  in  a  sense  that 
might  very  well  be  admitted,  and  his  followers  maintain  the 
same  proposition  in  a  sense  that  may  very  well  be  contested. 

The  author  of  the  poem  upon  the  destruction  of  Lisbon, 
does  not  write  against  the  illustrious  Pope,  whom  he  always 
loved  and  admired ;  he  agrees  with  him  in  almost  every  par- 
ticular, but  compassionating  the  misery  of  man,  he  declares 
against  the  abuse  of  the  new  maxim,  Whatever  is,  is  right.  He 
maintains  that  ancient  and  sad  truth  acknowledged  by  all  men, 
that  there  is  evil  upon  earth  ;  he  acknowledges,  that  the  words 
whatever  is,  is  right,  if  understood  in  a  positive  sense,  and  with- 
out any  hopes  of  a  happy  future  state,  only  insult  us  in  our 
present  misery. 

If,  when  Lisbon,  Mequinez,  Tetuan,  and  other  cities  were 
swallowed  up,  with  a  great  number  of  their  inhabitants,  in  the 
month  of  November,  I'TSO,  philosophers  had  cried  out  to  the 
wretches,  who  with  diflSculty  escaped  from  the  ruins :  "  All 
this  is  productive  of  general  good ;  the  heirs  of  those  who  have 
perished  will  increase  their  fortune ;  masons  will  earn  money 
by  rebuilding  the  houses ;  beasts  will  feed  upon  the  carcasses 
buried  under  the  ruins ;  it  is  the  necessary  effect  of  necessary 
causes ;  your  particular  misfortune  is  nothing,  it  contributes  to 
universal  good ;"  such  a  harangue  would  doubtless  have  been 
as  cruel  as  the  earthquake  was  fatal,  and  all  that  the  author  of 
the  Poem  on  the  Destruction  of  Lisbon  has  said,  amounts  only 
to  this. 

He  acknowledges,  with  all  mankind,  that  there  is  evil  as 
well  as  good  upon  the  earth ;  he  owns,  that  no  philosopher 
has  ever  been  able  to  explain  the  nature  of  moral  and  physical 
evil.  He  asserts  that  Bayle,  the  greatest  master  of  the  art  of 
reasoning  that  ever  wrote,  has  only  taught  to  doubt,  and  that 
he  combats  himself;  he  owns  that  man's  understanding  is  as 
weak  as  his  life  is  miserable.     He  lays  a  concise  abstract  of  the 


352 

several  different  systems  before  his  readers,  lie  says,  that 
Revelation  alone  can  untie  the  great  knot  which  philosophers 
have  only  rendered  more  puzzling ;  and  that  nothing  but  the 
hope  of  our  existence  being  continued  in  a  future  state,  can 
console  us  under  our  present  misfortunes ;  that  the  goodness 
of  Providence  is  the  only  asylum  in  which  man  can  take  refuge 
in  the  darkness  of  reason,  and  in  the  calamities  to  which  his 
weak  and  frail  nature  is  exposed. 

P.  S.  Readers  should  always  distinguish  between  the  ob- 
jections which  an  author  proposes  to  himself,  and  his  answers 
to  those  objections,  and  should  not  mistake  what  he  refutes  for 
what  he  adopts. 


NOTE. 


Perhaps  Mr.  Pope's  system  was  never  before  looked  upon  as 
the  same  with  Lord  Shaftesbury's ;  it  is,  however,  an  incontesta- 
ble truth  that  it  is  so :  the  whole  physical  part  of  it  is  to  be 
met  with,  word  for  word,  in  the  first  part  of  the  chapter,  en- 
titled. The  Moralists,  section  the  first,  beginning  with  :  "  Much 
is  alleged  in  answer  to  show,"  etc.  Many  answers  have  been 
made  to  these  complaints  of  the  defects  of  nature.  How  can 
she  have  come  so  faulty  and  impotent  out  of  the  hands  of  a 
perfect  being  ?  But  I  deny  that  she  is  faulty, — her  beauty  is 
the  result  of  contrarieties,  and  universal  harmony  springs  from 
a  perpetual  combat Every  thing  that  exists  must  be  sacri- 
ficed to  something  else ;  vegetables  to  animals,  animals  to  the 
earth  ....  and  the  laws  of  central  power  and  vegetation  which 
give  the  celestial  bodies  their  weight  and  motion,  will  not  be 
put  in  confusion  for  the  sake  of  a  wretched  and  weak  animal, 
who,  though  protected  by  those  laws,  will  soon  be  reduced  to 
dust  by  them."  This  is  admirable  ;  yet  notwithstanding  this, 
Mr.  Clarke,  in  his  treatise  upon  the  existence  of  God,  has  de- 
clared :  "  That  in  the  rank  which  the  human  species  is  placed 
in  this  present  state,  the  order  of  things  is  inverted,"  vol.  ii. 


THE  author's  peefacp:.  353 

p.  20,  second  edition,  translated  by  Mr.  Ricotier.  Man  may, 
notwithstanding,  say :  I  should  be  as  dear  to  my  master,  I  that 
am  a  sensible  and  thinking  being,  as  the  planets  which  are 
probably  without  sensation ;  the  affairs  of  this  world  might  be 
otherwise  notwithstanding  this,  since  we  are  told,  that  order 
has  been  perverted,  and  will  be  re-established :  notwithstand- 
ing this,  moral  and  physical  evil  may  be  things  incomprehen- 
sible to  the  human  mind :  notwithstanding  this,  Pope  and 
Shaftesbury's  maxim.  Whatever  is,  is  rights  one  banned  as 
atheistic,  but  now  canonized,  may  be  justly  called  in  question. 
The  moral  part  of  Pope's  Essay  on  Man  is  likewise  to  be  found 
entire  in  Shaftesbury,  in  the  inquiry  into  the  nature  of  moral 
virtue,  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  volume  of  the  Charac- 
teristics. Therein  the  author  lays  it  down  as  a  maxim,  that 
particular  interest  well  understood,  constitutes  the  general 
interest. 

It  is  not  only  possible  to  love  the  public  good  as  well  as  our 
own,  but  the  latter  sort  of  love  is  inseparably  connected  with 
the  former.  The  words  of  Lord  Shaftesbury  are  :  "  To  be  well 
affected  towards  the  public  interest  and  one's  own,  is  not  only 
consistent,  but  inseparable."  This  he  makes  it  his  business  to 
prove  through  the  whole  book ;  and  this  is  the  basis  of  the 
moral  part  of  Pope's  Essay  on  Man.  He  concludes  it  by 
asserting, 

'•  That  reason,  passion,  answer  one  great  aim, 
That  true  self-love  and  social  be  the  same." 

Reason  and  passion  conspire  to  produce  the  great  end  which 
the  Deity  has  in  view.  True  self-love  and  social  love  are,  in 
fact,  the  same. 

Such  excellent  morality  much  more  forcibly  inculcated  in 
Pope  than  Shaftesbury,  always  gave  high  satisfaction  to  the 
author  of  the  Poems  on  the  Destruction  of  Lisbon,  and  the 
Law  of  Nature :  for  this  reason  he  speaks  of  the  former  in 
these  terms, 

"Mais  Pope  approfondit  se  qu'ils  ont  effleure, 
Et  rhomrae  avec  lui  apprend  a  se  connaitre." 


354 

Lord  Shaftesbury  further  proves,  that  the  perfection  of  virtue 
must  spring  from  the  belief  of  a  God.  His  words  are  :  "  And 
thus  perfection  of  virtue  must  be  owing  to  the  belief  of  a  God." 

It  is  most  probable  that  these  arc  the  words  which  have 
induced  some  persons  to  look  upon  Shaftesbury  as  an  atheist. 
If  they  had  read  his  work  with  care,  they  would  not  have  cast 
such  an  aspersion  upon  a  peer  of  England,  and  a  philosopher 
educated  by  the  sagacious  Locke. 

It  was  in  the  same  way  that  Father  Ilardouin  treated  Pascal, 
Malebranche,  and  Arnauld  as  atheists.  Thus  did  Dr.  Lange 
represent  the  respectable  Wolfius  as  an  atheist,  for  having 
spoken  well  of  the  morality  of  the  Chinese  ;  and  Wolfius  hav- 
ing alleged,  in  his  vindication,  the  testimony  of  the  Jesuit 
missionaries  to  China,  the  answer  made  by  the  doctor  was : 
"  Does  not  everybody  know  that  the  Jesuits  are  atheists  ?" 
Those  who  deplored  the  affair  of  the  devils  of  Loudun,  which 
was  such  a  disgrace  to  human  reason  ;  those  who  were  scan- 
dalized that  a  friar  conducting  Urban  Grandier  to  execution 
should  strike  him  with  an  iron  crucifix,  were  called  atheists  by 
the  whole  order.  Those  of  the  sect  of  Convulsionaries  declared, 
in  printed  books,  that  all  who  made  a  jest  of  their  convulsions 
were  no  better  than  atheists ;  and  the  Molinists  have  a  hun- 
dred times  given  the  same  appellation  to  the  Jansenists. 
About  twenty  years  ago,  when  a  writer  of  reputation  wrote 
upon  inoculating  for  the  small-pox,  an  author  never  before 
heard  of  expressed  himself  in  the  following  terms  :  "  No  one 
but  an  atheist,  infected  by  the  follies  of  the  English,  could  be 
so  mad  as  to  advise  his  countrymen  to  incur  certain  evil  for 
an  uncertain  good." 

The  author  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Journal,  who  has  so  long 
tranquilly  written  against  government,  law,  and  reason,  has, 
in  one  whole  sheet,  exerted  himself  to  the  utmost  to  prove  that 
Mons.  de  Montesquieu  was  an  atheist ;  and  in  another  that  he 
Avas  a  deist. 

St.  Sorlin  des  Maretz,  known  to  the  world  by  the  poem  of 
Clovis,  and  by  his  fanaticism,  one  day  seeing  La  Mothe  le 
Vayer,  privy  counsellor  and  preceptor  to  the  king's  brother, 


355 

pass  through  the  gallery  of  the  Louvre,  cried  out :  "  There 
goes  a  man  who  has  no  sense  of  religion ;"  La  Motlie  turned 
about,  and  made  him  this  answer  :  "  Friend,  I  have  too  much 
religion  to  be  of  yours."  To  conclude,  the  odious  and  ridicu- 
lous practice  of  accusing  all  who  are  not  exactly  of  the  same 
sentiments  with  us  of  atheism,  has  contributed,  more  than  any 
other  cause  whatever,  to  render  controversy  contemptible  to 
all  Europe. 


POEM 

uroN 
THE   DESTRUCTION    OF    LISBON; 


AN  INQUIRY  INTO  THE  MAXIM,  "  WHATEVER  IS, 
IS  RIGHT." 


0  WRETCHED  man !  earth,  fated  to  be  cursed ! 
Abyss  of  plagues,  and  miseries  the  worst ! 
Horrors  on  horrors,  grief  on  griefs  must  show, 
That  man's  the  victim  of  unceasing  woe. 
And  lamentations,  which  inspire  my  strain, 
Prove  that  philosophy  is  false  and  vain. 
Approach  in  crowds,  and  meditate  awhile 
Yon  shatter'd  walls,  and  view  each  ruin'd  pile. 
Women  and  children  heap'd  up  mountain  high, 
Limbs  crush'd,  which  under  ponderous  marble  lie ; 
Wretches  unnumber'd  in  the  pangs  of  death, 
Who,  mangled,  torn,  and  panting  for  their  breath, 
Buried  beneath  their  sinking  roofs  expire. 
Ending  their  wretched  lives  in  torments  dire. 
Say,  when  you  hear  their  piteous,  half-form'd  cries, 
Or  from  their  ashes  see  the  smoke  arise — 
Say,  will  you  then  eternal  laws  maintain. 
Which  God  to  cruelties  like  these  constrain  ? 
While  you  these  facts,  replete  with  horror,  view, 


358  POEM   UPON   THE 

Will  you  maintain,  death  to  their  crimes  was  clue  ? 

And  can  you,  then,  impute  a  sinful  deed 

To  babes  who  on  their  mothers'  bosoms  bleed  ? 

Was  then  more  vice  in  fallen  Lisbon  found, 

Than  Paris,  where  voluptuous  joys  abound  ? 

Was  less  debauchery  to  London  known, 

Where  opulence  luxurious  holds  her  throne  ? 

Earth  Lisbon  swallows ;  the  light  sons  of  France 

Protract  the  feast,  or  lead  the  sprightly  dance. 

Spectators,  who  undaunted  courage  show. 

While  you  behold  your  dying  brethren's  woe  ; 

With  stoical  tranquillity  of  mind 

You  seek  the  causes  of  these  ills  to  find  : 

But  when,  like  us,  Fate's  rigors  you  have  felt, 

Become  humane  like  us,  you'll  learn  to  melt. 

When  the  earth  gapes  my  body  to  entomb, 

I  justly  may  complain  of  such  a  doom. 

Hemm'd  round  on  every  side  by  cruel  fate. 

The  snares  of  death,  the  wicked's  furious  hate, 

Prey'd  on  by  pain,  and  by  corroding  grief. 

Suffer  me  from  complaint  to  find  relief. 

'Tis  pride,  you  cry,  seditious  pride,  that  still 

Asserts  mankind  should  be  exempt  from  ill. 

The  awful  truth  on  Tagus'  banks  explore ; 

Search  through  the  ruins  on  that  bloody  shore  ; 

Wretches  interr'd  alive  in  direful  grave. 

Ask  if  pride  cries,  "  Good  Heaven,  thy  creatures  save  !** 

If  'tis  presumption  that  makes  mortals  cry, 

"  Heaven,  on  our  suflferings  cast  a  pitying  eye  1" 

All's  right,  you  answer ;  the  Eternal  Cause 

Rules  not  by  partial,  but  by  general  laws. 

Say,  what  advantage  can  result  to  all. 

From  wretched  Lisbon's  lamentable  fall  ? 

Are  you  then  sure,  the  Power  which  could  create 


359 


DESTRUCTION    OF    LISBON. 

The  universe,  and  fix  the  laws  of  fate, 
Could  not  have  found  for  man  a  proper  place. 
But  earthquakes  must  destroy  the  human  race  ? 
Will  you  thus  limit  the  eternal  mind  ? 
Should  not  our  God  to  mercy  be  inclined  ? 
Cannot,  then,  God  direct  all  nature's  course  ? 
Can  power  almighty  be  without  resource  ? 
Humbly  the  great  Creator  I  entreat. 
This  gulf,  with  sulphur  and  with  fire  replete. 
Might  on  the  deserts  spend  its  raging  flame. 
God  my  respect,  my  love  weak  mortals  claim ; 
When  man  groans  under  such  a  load  of  woe. 
He  is  not  proud,  he  only  feels  the  blow  ; 
Would  words  like  these  to  peace  of  mind  restore 
The  natives  sad  of  that  disastrous  shore  : 
"  Grieve  not  that  other's  bliss  may  overflow, 
Your  sumptuous  palaces  are  laid  thus  low ; 
Your  burned  towers  shall  other  hands  rebuild. 
With  multitudes  your  walls  one  day  be  fill'd  ; 
Your  ruin  on  the  North  shall  wealth  bestow, 
For  general  good  from  partial  ills  must  flow ; 
You  seem  as  abject  to  the  sovereign  power 
As  worms,  which  shall  your  carcasses  devour." 
No  comfort  could  such  shocking  words  impart. 
They'd  only  wound  the  sad,  afllicted  heart. 
When  I  lament  my  present  wretched  state. 
Allege  not  the  unchanging  laws  of  fate  ; 
Urge  not  the  links  of  the  eternal  chain  ; 
'Tis  false  philosophy,  and  wisdom  vain. 
The  God  who  holds  the  chain  cannot  be  chain'd ; ' 


1  The  universal  chain  is  not,  as  some  have  thought,  a  regular  gradation 
which  connects  all  beings.  There  is,  in  all  probability,  an  immense  dis- 
tance between  man  and  beast,  as  well  as  between  man  and  substances  of  a 
Buperior  nature  ;  there  is,  likewise,  an  infinity  between  God  and  all  created 


360  POEM   UPON   THE 

By  his  bless'cl  will  arc  all  events  ordain'd  : 
He's  just,  nor  easily  to  wrath  gives  way — 

beings  whatever.  There  are  none  of  these  insensible  gradations  in  the 
globes  which  move  round  our  sun  in  their  several  periods,  whether  wo 
consider  their  mass,  tlieir  distances,  or  their  satellites. 

If  we  may  believe  Pope,  man  is  not  capable  of  discovering  the  reason 
why  the  satellites  of  Jove  are  less  than  Jove  himself ;  he  is  herein  mis- 
taken ;  such  an  error  as  this  may  Avell  be  overlooked  in  so  fine  a  genius. 
Every  smatterer  in  mathematics  could  have  told  Lord  Bolingbroke  and 
Mr.  Pope  that,  if  the  satellites  of  Jove  had  equalled  him  in  magnitude, 
they  could  not  have  moved  round  him ;  but  no  mathematician  is  able  to 
discover  a  regular  gradation  in  the  bodies  of  the  solar  system. 

It  is  not  true,  that  the  world  could  not  subsist  if  a  single  atom  was  taken 
from  it.  This  was  justly  observed  by  Mr.  Crousaz,  a  learned  geometrician, 
in  a  tract  which  he  wrote  against  Pope.  He  seems  to  have  been  right  in 
this  point,  though  he  was  fully  refuted  by  Mr.  Warburton  and  Mr.  Sil- 
houette. 

The  concatenation  of  events  was  admitted  and  defended  with  the  utmost 
ingenuity,  by  the  celebrated  philosopher  Leibnitz;  it  is  worth  explaining. 
All  bodies  and  all  events  depend  upon  other  bodies  and  other  events. 
That  cannot  be  denied  ;  but  all  bodies  are  not  essential  to  the  support  of 
the  universe,  and  the  preservation  of  its  order;  neither  are  all  events 
necessary  in  the  general  series  of  events.  A  drop  of  water,  a  grain  of 
sand,  more  or  less,  can  cause  no  revolution  in  the  general  system.  Nature 
is  not  confined  to  any  determinate  quantity,  or  any  determinate  form.  No 
planet  moves  in  a  curve  completely  regular  ;  there  is  nothing  in  nature  of 
a  figure  exactly  mathematical ;  no  fixed  quantity  is  required  for  any  opera- 
tion ;  nature  is  never  very  strict  or  rigid  in  her  method  of  proceeding.  It 
is,  therefore,  absurd  to  advance,  that  the  removal  of  an  atom  from  the 
earth  might  be  the  cause  of  its  destruction. 

This  holds,  in  like  manner,  with  regard  to  events.  The  cause  of  every 
event  is  contained  in  some  preceding  event;  this  no  philosopher  has  ever 
called  in  question.  If  Caesar's  mother  had  never  gone  through  the  Caisar- 
ian  operation,  Cajsar  had  never  subverted  the  commonwealth ;  he  could 
never  have  adopted  Octavius,  and  Octavius  could  never  have  chosen  Ti- 
berius for  his  successor  in  the  empire.  The  marriage  of  Maximilian  with 
the  heiress  of  Burgundy  and  the  Low  Countries,  gave  rise  to  a  war  which 
lasted  two  hundred  years.  But  Caesar's  spitting  on  the  right  or  left  side, 
or  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy's  dressing  her  head  in  this  manner  or  in  that, 
could  have  altered  nothing  in  the  general  plan  of  Providence. 

It  follows,  therefore,  that  there  are  some  events  which  have  consequences, 
and  others  which  have  none.  Their  chain  resembles  a  genealogical  tree, 
some  branches  of  which  disappear  at  the  first  generation,  while  the  race  is 
continued  by  others.  There  are  many  events  which  pass  away  without 
ever  generating  others.  Thus,  in  every  machine  there  are  some  effects  in- 
dispensably necessary  towards  producing  motion,  and  others  which  are 
productive  of  nothing  at  all.     The  wheels  of  a  coach  make  it  go  ;  but 


DESTRUCTION   OF    LISBON.  361 

Why  suffer  we  beneatli  so  mild  a  sway  ?^ 

This  is  the  fatal  knot  you  should  untie ; 

Our  evils  do  you  cure,  when  you  deny  ? 

Men  never  strove  into  the  source  to  pry 

Of  evil,  whose  existence  you  deny. 

If  he  whose  hand  the  elements  can  wield. 

To  the  wind's  force  makes  rocky  mountains  yield, 

If  thunder  lays  oaks  level  with  the  plain, 

From  the  bolts'  strokes  they  never  suffer  pain. 

But  I  can  feel,  my  heart  oppress'd  demands 

Aid  of  that  God,  who  form'd  me  with  his  hands. 

Sons  of  the  God  supreme,  to  suffer  all 

Fated  alike ;  we  on  our  father  call. 

No  vessel  of  the  potter  asks,  we  know^, 

Why  it  was  made  so  brittle,  vile,  and  low  ! 

Vessels,  of  speech,  as  well  as  thought,  are  void  ; 

The  urn  this  moment  form'd,  and  that  destroy'd. 

The  potter  never  could  w^ith  sense  inspire  ; 

Devoid  of  thought,  it  nothing  can  desire. 

The  moralist,  still  obstinate,  replies, 

"  Others'  enjoyments  from  your  woes  arise." 


whether  they  raise  more  or  less  dust,  the  journey  is  finished  alike.  Such 
is  the  general  order  of  the  world,  that  the  links  of  the  chain  would  not  he 
in  the  least  discomposed  hy  a  small  increase  or  diminution  of  the  quantity 
of  matter,  or  by  an  inconsiderable  deviation  from  regularity. 

The  chain  is  not  in  an  absolute  plenum  ;  it  has  been  demonstrated  that 
the  celestial  bodies  perform  their  revolutions  in  an  unresisting  medium. 
Every  space  is  not  filled.  It  follows,  then,  that  there  is  not  a  progression 
of  bodies  from  an  atom  to  the  most  remote  fixed  star.  There  may  of  con- 
sequence be  immense  intervals  between  beings  endued  with  sensation, 
as  well  as  between  those  that  are  not.  We  cannot,  then,  be  certain  that 
man  must  be  placed  in  one  of  these  links  joined  to  another  by  an  uninter- 
rupted connection.  All  things  are  linked  together,  means  only  that  all 
things  are  regularly  disposed  in  their  proper  order.  God  is  the  cause  and 
the  regulator  of  that  order.  Homer's  Jupiter  was  the  slave  of  destiny ; 
but  according  to  more  rational  philosophy,  God  is  the  master  of  destiny. 
See  Clarke's  Treatise  upon  the  Existence  of  God. 

1  Sub  Deo  justo  nemo  miser,  nisi  mereatur. — St.  Augustine. 
Ifi 


362  POEM   UPON   THE 

To  numerous  insects  shall  my  corpse  give  birth, 

When  once  it  mixes  with  its  mother  earth. 

Small  comfort  'tis,  that  when  death's  ruthless  power 

Closes  my  life,  worms  shall  my  flesh  devour. 

Remembrancers  of  misery,  refrain 

From  consolation ;  you  increase  my  pain  ! 

Complaint,  I  see,  you  have  with  care  reprcss'd, 

And  proudly  hid  your  sorrows  in  your  breast. 

But  a  small  part,  I  no  importance  claim 

In  the  vast  universe,  the  general  frame. 

All  other  beings  in  this  world  below, 

Condemn'd,  like  me,  to  lead  a  life  of  woe, 

Subject  to  laws  as  rigorous  as  I, 

Like  me  in  anguish  live,  and  like  me  die. 

The  vulture,  urged  by  an  insatiate  maw. 

Its  trembling  prey  tears  with  relentless  claw  : 

This  it  finds  right ;  endued  with  greater  powers, 

The  bird  of  Jove  the  vulture's  self  devours  ; 

Man  lifts  his  gun,  he  aims  the  fatal  ball. 

And  makes  to  earth  the  towering  eagle  fall ; 

Man  in  the  field,  with  wounds  all  cover'd  o'er. 

Midst  heaps  of  dead  lies  weltering  in  his  gore, 

While  birds  of  prey  the  mangled  limbs  devour 

Of  nature's  lord,  who  boasts  his  mighty  power. 

Thus  the  world's  members  equal  ills  sustain. 

And  perish  by  each  other,  born  to  pain ; 

Yet,  in  this  direful  chaos,  you'd  compose 

A  general  bliss  from  individual's  woes  ? 

Oh,  worthless  bliss !  in  injured  reason's  spite. 

With  faltering  voice,  you  cry,  "  What  is,  is  right." 

The  universe  confutes  your  boasting  vain ; 

Your  heart  retracts  the  error  you  maintain. 

Men,  beasts,  and  elements  know  no  repose 

From  dire  contention  ;  earth's  the  seat  of  woes. 


DESTRrCTION   OF   LISBON.  363 

We  strive  in  vain  its  secret  source  to  find ; 

Is  ill  the  gift  of  our  Creator  kind  ? 

Do  then  fell  Typhon's '  cursed  laws  ordain 

Our  ill,  or  Arimanius^  doom  to  pain? 

Shock'd  at  such  dire  chimeras,  I  reject 

Monsters,  which  fear  could  into  gods  erect. 

But  how  conceive  a  God,  the  source  of  love, 

Who  man  o'erwhelms  with  blessings  from  above, 

Then  doth  the  race  with  various  plagues  confound  ? 

Can  mortals  penetrate  his  views  profound  ? 

Ill  could  not  from  a  perfect  being  spring, 

Nor  from  aught  else,^  since  God's  the  sovereign  king ! 

And  yet,  sad  truth !  in  this  our  world  'tis  found. 

What  contradictions  here  my  soul  confound ! 

A  God  once  dwelt  on  earth  among  mankind, 

Yet  vices  still  lay  waste  the  human  mind ;  * 

He  could  not  do  it,  this  proud  sophist  cries ; 

He  could,  but  he  declined  it,  that  replies ; 

He  surely  will,  ere  these  disputes  have  end ; 

Lisbon's  foundations  hidden  thunders  rend, 

And  thirty  cities'  shatter'd  remnants  fly, 

In  hopeless  ruin  through  the  angry  sky, 

From  dismal  Tagus's  ensanguined  shore, 

To  where  of  Cadiz'  sea  the  billows  roar. 

Or  man's  a  sinful  creature  from  his  birth, 

And  God  to  woe  condemns  the  sons  of  earth ; 

Or  else  the  Governor  of  life  and  space, 

Untouch'd  with  pity  for  the  human  race. 

Indifferent,  both  from  love  and  anger  free, 

1  The  author  of  evil,  according  to  the  ancient  Egyptians. 

2  The  author  of  evil,  according  to  the  ancient  Persians. 

3  From  another  principle. 

*  An  English  philosopher  has  maintained,  that  the  physical  world  must 
have  been  new  formed  at  the  first  coming  of  Christ,  as  well  as  the  moral 
world. 


364:  POEM    UPON   THE 

Still  acts  consistent  to  his  first  decree ; 
Or  matter  has  defects  -which  still  oppose 
God's  will,  and  thence  all  human  evil  flows ; 
Or,  yet,  this  transient  world,  by  mortals  trod, 
Is  but  a  passage  that  conducts  to  God.' 
Our  fleeting  sorrows  here  shall  soon  be  o'er, 
And  death  will  land  us  on  a  happier  shore. 
But,  when  we  rise  from  this  accurst  abyss. 
Who  by  his  merit  can  lay  claim  to  bliss  ? 
Dangers  and  difiiculties  man  surround, 
Doubts  and  perplexities  his  mind  confound. 
To  nature  we  apply  for  truth,  in  vain ; 
God  should  his  will  to  human  kind  explain ; 
He  only  can  illume  the  human  soul. 
Instruct  the  wise  man,  and  the  weak  console. 
Without  him,  man,  of  error  still  the  sport. 
Thinks  from  each  broken  reed  to  find  support, 
Leibnitz  cannot  explain  the  secret  cause. 
Which,  in  a  world  ruled  by  the  wisest  laws, 
Lasting  disorders,  woes  that  never  end. 
With  our  vain  pleasures  real  suff'erings  blend. 
Why  ill  the  virtuous  with  the  vicious  shares  ? 
Why  neither  good  nor  bad,  misfortune  spares  ? 
I  can't  conceive  that  what  is,  ought  to  be  ; 
And  find  that  I  no  more  than  doctors  see. 
We're  told  by  Plato,  man,  in  times  of  yore, 
Wings  gorgeous  to  his  glorious  body  wore. 
That  all  attacks  he  could,  unhurt,  sustain. 
By  death  ne'er  conquer'd,  ne'er  approach'd  by  pain. 
Alas !  how  changed  from  such  a  brilliant  state ! 


1  These  and  the  foregoing  lines  contain,  besides  the  hypothesis  of  two 
self-existent  principles,  one  of  good,  and  the  other  of  evil,  all  the  solutions 
that  occur  to  the  human  mind  upon  this  abstruse  subject ;  it  is  revelation 
alone  that  can  enlighten  the  mind  in  matters  above  our  comprehension. 


DESTRUCTION    OF   LISBON. 


365 


He  crawls  'twixt  heaven  and  earth,  then  yields  to  Fate. 

Look  round  this  sublunary  world,  you'll  find 

That  nature  to  destruction  is  consign'd. 

Our  system  weak,  which  nerves  and  bone  compose, 

Cannot  the  shock  of  elements  oppose  ; 

This  mass  of  fluids  mix'd  with  temper'd  clay, 

To  dissolution  quickly  must  give  way. 

Their  keen  sensations  cannot  long  sustain 

The  attacks  of  sickness  or  of  constant  pain. 

This  is  the  nature  of  the  human  frame ; 

Plato  and  Epicurus  I  disclaim. 

Nature  was  more  to  Bayle  than  either  known : 

What  do  I  learn  from  Bayle  ? — to  doubt  alone.' 

1  About  a  hundred  observations  scattered  up  and  down  in  Bayle' s  Dic- 
tionary, have  acquired  him  immortal  reputation.  He  has  left  the  contro- 
versy concerning  the  origin  of  evil  undecided.  He  lays  all  manner  of 
opinions  before  his  readers ;  all  the  arguments  by  which  they  are  sup- 
ported, and  all  the  arguments  by  which  they  may  be  contested,  are  by 
him  discussed;  he  is,  as  it  were,  the  recorder  of  philosophers,  but  he 
never  gives  his  own  opinion.  He  resembles  Cicero,  who  often,  in  his  phi- 
losophical works  assumes  the  character  of  an  academician  who  decides 
nothing  ;  this  is  the  remark  of  the  learned  and  judicious  Abbe  d'Olivet. 

I  think  it  my  duty,  in  this  place,  to  endeavor  to  soften  those  who  have 
so  long  attacked  Bayle  with  so  much  virulence,  and  to  so  little  purpose  : 
when  I  say  to  so  little  purpose,  I  do  not  say  enough  ;  their  invectives  have 
only  made  people  more  desirous  of  reading  his  works ;  they  should  en- 
deavor to  learn  moderation,  and  the  art  of  reasoning  from  him.  The  phi- 
losophical Bayle  did  not,  however,  deny  Providence,  or  the  immortality  of 
the  soul.  The  works  of  Cicero  are  translated,  commented  upon,  and 
thought  necessary  in  the  education  of  princes ;  yet  what  strange  doctrine 
occurs  in  almost  every  page  of  Cicero,  among  passages  worthy  of  the  high- 
est admiration  ?  He  advances  over  and  over,  that  if  there  is  a  Providence, 
it  is  to  be  blamed  for  giving  man  an  intelligent  soul,  which  it  knew  he 
would  make  an  ill  use  of.  Sic  vestra  ista  Providentia  reprehenda  est  quce 
rationem  dedit  eis  quos  scierit  ed  perverse  et  improbe  usuros.  {Libro  tertio 
de  Natura  Deorum^  Cap.  xxxi.) 

"  No  one  ever  looked  upon  virtue  as  a  gift  of  the  gods,  and  it  certainly 
cannot  be  considered  in  that  light."  Virtutem  autem  nemo  unquam  Deo 
retulit;  nimirum  rede.  (Ibid.,  Cap.  xxxvi.)  "If  a  criminal  dies  unpun- 
ished, you  say  the  gods  will  afflict  his  posterity.  Would  a  State  bear  with 
a  legislator  who  should  punish  the  grandchildren  for  the  crimes  of  their 
grandfather?"    Ferretne  tilla  civilas  latorem  istius  modi  legis  vt  condemna- 


36^ -*v...^-  POEM  UPON   THE 

Bayle,  great  and  wise,  all  systems  overthrows, 
Then  his  own  tenets  labors  to  oppose. 
Like  Samson  blind  amid  Philistia's  bands, 
Crushed  *neath  the  pile  demolished  by  his  hands. 
How  vain  man's  efforts  are  to  penetrate, 
God's  ways !     To  him  is  seal'd  the  book  of  fate. 
Man  his  own  nature  never  yet  could  sound, 
Knows  not  what,  whence  he  is,  nor  whither  bound.* 


retur  Jilius  aut  nepos,  si  pater  aut  avus  deliquissefi  {Ibid.,  Ca^).  xxxviii.) 
What  is  still  more  surprising,  Cicero  concludes  his  treatise  upon  the  nature 
of  the  gods  "without  refuting  such  assertions  as  these.  In  his  Tusculanes, 
he  in  many  places  endeavors  to  prove  the  mortality  of  the  soul,  after  hav- 
ing before  labored  to  prove  its  immortality. 

This  is  not  all ;  in  his  oration  for  Cluentius  he  declares  his  sentiments 
in  these  terms  before  the  whole  Koman  senate :  "  What  has  he  suffered  by 
death?  we  reject  all  the  idle  stories  of  the  infernal  regions.  What  has  he 
then  been  deprived  of  by  the  loss  of  life,  except  the  sense  of  his  suffer- 
ings ?"  Quid  tandem  illi  mail  mors  attulit  ?  nisi  forte  ineptiis  ac  fabulis 
ducimur,  nt  exist imemus  ilium  apud  inferos  impiorum  supplicia  perferre  . . . 
qiiCB  si  falsa  sunt,  id  quod  omnes  intelligunt,  quid  ei  tandem  aliud  mors  eri- 
puit,  prceier  sensum  doloris?    (C.  Ixi.) 

Even  in  his  letters,  in  which  men  generally  speak  their  real  sentiments, 
has  not  he  expressed  himself  thus :  Si  non  ero,  sensu  om,nino  carebo :  "  when 
I  am  dead,  I  shall  be  in  a  state  of  perfect  insensibility." 

Bayle  never  spoke  in  such  terms  as  these.  Yet  Cicero  is  put  into  the 
hands  of  youth,  at  college,  by  the  very  persons  who  inveigh  against  Bayle : 
How  can  we  account  for  this  ?  Only  by  saying  that  men  are  inconsistent 
and  unjust. 

1  It  is  self-evident,  that  man  cannot  acquire  this  knowledge  without 
assistance.  The  human  mind  derives  all  its  knowledge  from  experience ; 
no  experience  can  give  us  an  insight  into  what  preceded  our  existence,  into 
what  is  to  follow  it,  nor  into  what  supports  it  at  present.  In  what  manner 
have  we  received  life  ?  What  is  the  spring  upon  which  it  depends?  How 
is  our  brain  capable  of  ideas  and  memory  ?  In  what  manner  do  our  limbs 
obey  every  motion  of  the  will  ?  Of  all  this  we  are  entirely  ignorant.  Is 
our  globe  the  only  one  that  is  inhabited  ?  Was  it  created  after  other  globes, 
or  at  the  same  instant  ?  Does  every  particular  species  of  plants  proceed 
from  a  first  plant?  Is  every  species  of  animals  produced  by  two  first  ani- 
mals? The  most  profound  philosophers  are  no  more  able  to  solve  these 
questions  than  the  most  ignorant  of  men.  All  these  questions  may  be 
reduced  to  the  vulgar  proverb  :  Was  the  hen  before  the  egg,  or  the  egg  before 
the  hent  The  proverb  is  rather  low,  but  it  confounds  the  utmost  penetra- 
tion of  human  wisdom,  which  is  utterly  at  a  loss  with  regard  to  the  first 
principles  of  things,  without  supernatural  assistance. 


DESTKrCTION   OF   LISBON 


Atoms  tormented  on  this  earthly  ball, 

The  sport  of  fate,  by  death  soon  swallow'd,  all ; 

But  thinking  atoms,  who,  with  piercing  eyes. 

Have  measured  the  whole  circuit  of  the  skies ; 

We  rise  in  thought  up  to  the  heavenly  throne, 

But  our  own  nature  still  remains  unknown. 

This  world,  which  Error  and  o'erweening  Pride, 

Rulers  accursed,  between  them  still  divide. 

Where  wretches,  overwhelm'd  with  lasting  woe, 

Talk  of  a  happiness  they  never  know. 

Is  with  complaining  fill'd ;  all  are  forlorn 

In  seeking  bliss ;  none  w^ould  again  be  born.' 

If,  in  a  life  midst  sorrows  past  and  fears. 

With  Pleasure's  hand  we'd  wipe  away  our  tears, 

Pleasure  his  light  wings  spreads,  and  quickly  flies, 

Losses  on  losses,  griefs  on  griefs  arise. 

The  mind,  from  sad  remembrance  of  the  past. 

Is  with  black  melancholy  overcast ; 

Sad  is  the  present,  if  no  future  state. 

No  blissful  retribution  mortals  wait ; 

If  Fate's  decrees  the  thinking  being  doom 

To  lose  existence  in  the  silent  tomb ! 

All  will  be  loell ;  that  hope  can  man  sustain. 

All  now  is  well  ;  'tis  an  illusion  vain. 

The  sages  held  me  forth  delusive  light ; 

Divine  instructions  only  can  be  right ; 

Humbly  I  sigh,  submissive  suffer  pain. 

No  more  the  ways  of  Providence  arraign ; 

In  youthful  prime,  I  sung  in  strains  more  gay. 

Soft  pleasure's  laws,  which  led  mankind  astray. 

But  times  change  manners ;  taught  by  age  and  care. 


1  We  scarce  ever  meet  with  a  man  who  would  willingly  recommence  his 
past  course  of  life,  and  go  through  the  same  events. 


368  DESTRUCTION   OF   LISBON. 

While  I  mistaken  mortal's  weakness  share, 

The  light  of  truth  I  seek  in  this  dark  state, 

And  without  murmuring  submit  to  fate. 

A  caliph  once,  when  his  last  hour  drew  nigh, 

Pray'd  in  such  terms  as  these  to  the  Most  High  : 

"  Being  Supreme,  whose  greatness  knows  no  bound, 

I  bring  thee  what  cannot  in  thee  be  found ; 

Defects  and  sorrow,  ignorance  and  woe." 

Hope  he  omitted,  man's  sole  bliss  below.' 

'  Most  nations  entertained  this  hope  even  before  they  had  the  assistance 
of  revelation.  The  hope  of  existing  after  death  is  founded  upon  the  desire 
of  existing  during  life  ;  it  is  founded  upon  the  probability  that  what  thinks 
now  shall  think  hereafter.  Of  this  there  is  no  demonstration,  because  the 
contrary  of  whatever  is  demonstrated  is  a  contradiction,  and  because  there 
never  was  any  dispute  concerning  demonstrable  truths.  To  destroy  this 
hope,  Lucretius,  in  his  third  book,  adduces  arguments  of  a  force  which 
must  afflict  those  who  wish  for  a  life  to  come ;  but  he  does  no  more 
than  oppose  probabilities  to  stronger  probabilities.  Many  of  the  Komans 
thought  like  Lucretius  ;  and  these  words,  in  a  chorus  of  Seneca  the  Tra- 
gedian, were  sung  upon  the  Eoman  stage  :  Post  mortem  nihil  est,  "  there 
remains  nothing  after  death."  But  instinct,  reason,  the  desire  of  consola- 
tion, and  the  good  of  society  prevailed,  and  men  have  always  hoped  in  a 
life  to  come ;  this  hope  has,  however,  been  generally  accompanied  with 
doubt.  Eevelation  destroys  that  doubt,  and  makes  it  give  place  to  cer- 
tainty ;  but  how  frightful  it  is  to  be  compelled  to  dispute  daily  on  revela- 
tion ;  to  see  Christian  society  unsociable,  divided  into  a  hundred  sects  on 
revelation;  to  commit  St.  Bartholomews  for  revelation;  to  assassinate 
Henry  III  and  Henry  IV  for  revelation ;  to  behead  Charles  I  for  revelation ; 
to  drag  a  king  of  Poland  all  bleeding  for  revelation  !  0  God,  reveal  to  us 
then  that  we  should  be  humane  and  tolerant ! 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE, 


AND 


THE  TEMPLE  OP  FRIENDSHIP. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE.' 


That  cardinal  o'er  all  tlie  realm 
Eevered,  not  he  who  holds  the  helm, 
But  he  who  o'er  Parnassus  reigns, 
Renown'd  for  his  harmonious  strains ; 
The  patron  whom  all  bards  respect. 
Who  can  instruct  them  and  protect. 
Whose  eloquence  we  all  admire, 
Who  with  a  true  poetic  fire 
In  Latin  verse  can  reason  right, 
Plato  with  Virgil  can  unite. 
Who  vindicates  high  heaven  to  man. 
And  quite  subverts  Lucretius'  plan  ;  ^ 

that  cardinal,  whom  every  one  must  know  by  this  picture, 
desired  me  one  day  to  accompany  him  to  the  Temple  of  Taste. 
"It  is  a  place,"  said  he,  "which  resembles  the  Temple  of 
Friendship,  which  everybody  speaks  of,  which  few  visit,  and 
which  most  of  those  who  travel  to  it  have  never  thoroughly 
examined." 

I  answer'd  frankly,  I  must  own. 

To  me  Taste's  laws  are  little  known ; 

To  favor  you  that  god  inclines, 

1  This  work  was  composed  in  1731.  Several  editions  of  it  liave  been 
piiblislied ;  but  that  of  which  we  here  give  a  transhition  is,  by  all  means, 
the  best  and  most  correct. 

2  The  Cardinal  Polignac  wrote  a  Latin  poem  against  Lucretius.  The 
Anti-Lucrece,  not  yet  printed,  but  of  which  some  fragments  were  known 
and  very  highly  esteemed. 


372  THE  tp:mplk  of  tastk. 

He  to  your  hands  the  keys  consigns ; 

You  are  his  vicar  here  deputed, 

And  o'er  his  church  pope  constituted. 

In  furious  threat  all  Rome  may  rage, 

And  rave  at  this  my  honest  page  ; 

But  there's  a  difference  very  plain 

Twixt  you  and  Rome's  pope,  I'll  maintain ; 

For  Sorbonne's  doctors  all  aver, 

God's  vicar  upon  earth  may  err : 

But  when  I  hear  you  reason  strong, 

I  think  you  can't  be  in  the  wrong  ; 

So  just  your  reasoning,  wit  so  bright, 

You  seem  infallible  outright. 

"Ah!"  replied  he,  "at  Rome,  infallibility  is  confined  to 
things  which  men  do  not  comprehend  :  in  the  Temple  of 
Taste,  it  concerns  what  all  think  they  understand.  You  must 
positively  come  with  me."  "  But,"  continued  I,  "  if  you  carry 
me  with  you,  I  will  make  it  my  public  boast." 

I  shall  be  importuned,  I'm  sure. 
To  write  a  volume  on  this  tour : 
Voltaire's  account  shall  be,  at  best, 
But  a  short  narrative  in  jest. 
But  Town  and  Court  will,  without  .fail, 
Loudly  at  the  relation  rail ; 
The  Court  will  murmur,  and  the  Town 
Will,  as  a  fibber,  run  me  down ; 
As  one  who  talks,  with  serious  air, 
Of  places,  when  he  ne'er  was  there. 
And,  readers  better  to  engage, 
Tells  a  flat  lie  in  every  page. 

However,  as  we  should  never  refuse  ourselves  an  innocent 
pleasure  for  fear  others  should  think  ill  of  us,  I  followed  the 
guide  who  did  me  the  honor  to  be  my  conductor. 


THE   TEMPLE    OF   TASTE.  373 

Abbe,"  witli  taste  and  genius  fraught, 
With  us  the  sacred  shrine  you  sought ; 
You,  who  with  sage,  enlighten'd  mind, 
At  once  both  knowing  and  refined. 
Have,  by  example,  shown  the  way 
Which  we  may  take,  nor  fear  to  stray, 
When  in  pursuit  of  Taste  we  go. 
That  god  our  wits  disdain  to  know. 

In  our  journey  we  had  many  difficulties  to  encounter.  We 
first  of  all  met  with  Messrs.  Baldus,  Scioppius,  Lexicocrassus, 
Scriblerius,  and  a  crowd  of  commentators,  who  made  it  their 
business  to  restore  passages,  and  compile  volumes  upon  a  word 
which  they  did  not  understand. 

The  Daciers^  and  Saumaises*  profound, 
With  learned  lumber  stored,  I  found  : 
Their  faces  wan,  their  fire  quite  spent. 
With  poring  o'er  Greek  authors,  bent. 
Soon  as  the  squalid  troop  I  spied, 
I  raised  my  voice,  and  to  them  cried, 
"  To  Taste's  famed  Temple  do  you  bend  ?" 


1  Abbe  Eothelin  of  the  Erench  Academy. 

3  Dacier  was  a  man  of  great  learning.  He  was  perfectly  acquainted  with 
every  thing  in  ancient  authors,  except  their  grace  and  elegance.  His  com- 
mentaries are  replete  with  erudition,  but  destitute  of  taste.  He  has  trans- 
lated the  most  refined  strokes  of  Horace  like  a  pedant.  When  Horace  says 
to  his  mistress,  Miseri  quibus  intentata  nites,  Dacier  translates  the  passage, 
"Wretched  are  they  who  suffer  themselves  to  be  allured  by  the  calm, 
without  knowing  you."  He  translates,  JVun^  est  hibendum,  nuncjoede  libero 
pulsanda  tellus,  "Now  is  the  time  to  drink  and  dance  till  we  are  tired, 
without  being  under  any  apprehensions."  Max  juniores  qncerit  adulteros, 
he  translates  thus,  "  They  are  no  sooner  married,  but  they  look  out  for 
new  gallants."  But  though  he  has  disfigured  Horace,  and  though  his 
notes  show  him  to  be  a  man  of  much  learning,  but  little  genius,  his  work 
abounds  with  useful  researches,  and  his  industry  is  highly  commended. 

3  Saumaise  is  a  learned  author,  whom  nobody  reads.  He  begins  his 
defence  of  Charles  I  in  this  manner :  "  Ye  English,  who  play  at  tennis 
with  the  heads  of  kings,  who  play  bowls  with  crowns,  and  who  use  sceptres 
as  so  many  baubles." 


374  THE   TEMPLE    OF   TASTE. 

"  No,  sir,  we  no  such  tiling  intend. 
"What  others  have  with  care  expressed, 
With  accuracy  we  digest. 
On  other's  thoughts  we  spend  our  ink, 
But  we,  for  our  part,  never  think." 

After  this  ingenious  confession,  these  gentlemen  would  have 
had  us  read  some  passages  of  Dictys  of  Crete,  and  Metrodo- 
rus  of  Lampsacus,  which  Scaliger  had  spoiled.  We  thanked 
them  for  their  kind  offer,  and  continued  our  journey.  We  had 
not  walked  a  hundred  steps,  when  we  met  a  person  surrounded 
with  painters,  architects,  carvers,  gilders,  pretended  connois- 
seurs, and  flatterers.  They  turned  their  backs  to  the  Temple 
of  Taste. 

With  air  important,  pride  reposed. 
And  face  with  gravity  composed ; 
And  Crassus  snoring,  cried  :  "  I've  store 
Of  gold,  of  wit,  of  genius  more  : 
With  taste,  sirs,  I  am  amply  fraught, 
I  know  all  things,  yet  ne'er  was  taught ; 
I'm  skill'd  in  counsel  and  affairs ; 
In  spite  of  tempests  and  corsairs. 
My  vessel  safe  to  port  I've  brought ; 
With  pirates,  and  with  winds  I've  fought, 
A  palace,  therefore,  I  shall  raise. 
Which  every  man  of  taste  will  praise. 
Where  every  art  shall  be  display'd. 
Which  shall  with  wonder  be  survey'd ; 
The  money's  ready,  no  delay, 
I've  said  enough,  come,  now,  obey." 
It  was  no  sooner  said  than  done. 
To  labor  all  the  workmen  run. 
To  a  Vitruvius,  pride  erects 
One  of  our  mason  architects, 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE.  375 

Who,  aiming  to  do  something  new, 
A  plan  too  much  adorned  drew ; 
No  porch  or  front  the  pile  could  show, 
But  your  eye  meets  an  endless  row ; 
The  walls  not  thick,  the  closets  great. 
The  parlor  without  depth  complete ; 
Windows,  each  one  of  which  appears 
Like  a  church-door ;  and  little  piers ; 
Gilt,  wainscoted,  and  painted  white, 
The  whole  with  wonder  strikes  the  sight. 
"  Wake,  sir,"  a  painter  cries  aloud, 
"  Be  to  my  art  just  praise  allow'd ; 
The  skill  of  Raphael  ne'er  was  such ; 
He  had  not  half  so  soft  a  touch. 
To  nature  I  can  give  new  grace. 
And  cover  all  the  ceiling's  space 
With  various  figures,  which  the  sight 
Beholds  at  distance  with  delight." 
Crassus  awaking,  took  the  plan, 
And  to  examine  it  began  : 
Having  at  length  the  whole  inspected, 
At  random  he  itg  faults  corrected ; 
Then  glass  in  hand  a  connoisseur 
Said,  "  Look  upon  this  picture,  sir ; 
Buy  it,  sir,  'twill  your  chapel  grace ; 
God  in  his  glory  suits  the  place ; 
The  taste  alone's  enough  to  show, 
That  'tis  the  work  of  famed  Wateau." ' 
Meantime  a  bookseller,  a  cheat. 
Whom  wits  are  often  forced  to  treat, 
Opens  a  case,  which  works  contains 

1  A  Flemish  painter  who  worked  at  Paris,  where  he  died  some  years 
ago.  He  succeeded  in  little  figures,  but  never  produced  any  thing  great ; 
it  was  above  his  capacity. 


376  THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE. 

Of  Gacon,  Noble,  Desfontaines ; 
With  journals  and  reviews  a  store ; 
My  lord  begins  to  read  and  snore. 

I  thought  we  should  meet  with  no  further  delay,  and  reach 
the  Temple  without  any  other  difficulty ;  but  the  journey  is 
more  dangerous  than  I  imagined.  AVe  soon  after  fell  into  a 
new  ambuscade. 

Thus  in  the  pathway  to  salvation 
Your  devotees  meet  much  temptation ; 
And  with  the  devil  oft  contend, 
Before  they  reach  their  journey's  end. 

This  was  a  concert  given  by  a  magistrate,  infatuated  with 
music,  which  he  never  learned,  and  chiefly  with  the  Italian 
music,  of  which  he  had  no  knowledge  but  from  indifferent 
airs  that  were  never  heard  at  Rome,  and  that  are  very  badly 
sung  in  France  by  some  girls  belonging  to  the  opera. 

He  then  caused  a  long  French  recitative,  set  to  music  by  an 
Italian,  who  did  not  understand  our  language,  to  be  performed. 
It  was  to  no  purpose  to  remonstrate  to  him,  that  as  this  sort  of 
music  is  nothing  more  than  noted  declamation,  it  is,  of  conse- 
quence, subjected  to  the  genius  of  the  language ;  and  that 
nothing  can  be  as  ridiculous  as  French  scenes  sung  in  the 
Italian  taste,  unless  it  be  Italian  ones  sung  in  the  French  taste. 

Nature,  ingenious,  fertile,  wise. 
Earth  with  gifts  various  beautifies ; 
She  speaks  to  all  in  language  fit ; 
They  diff'er  both  in  tongue  and  wit ; 
Their  tone,  their  voices  suit ;  each  note 
Is  by  the  hand  of  nature  wrote ; 
And  every  difi'erence  must  appear 
To  a  refined,  judicious  ear. 
Music  to  charm  in  France,  the  tone 
Of  France  must  imitate  alone. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE.  377 

Lulli  could  to  our  taste  descend, 
Not  strive  to  alter  but  amend. 

No  sooner  were  these  judicious  remarks  made,  but  the  pre- 
tended connoisseur,  shaking  his  head,  cried,  "  Come,  come,  you 
shall  soon  see  something  new."  AVe  could  not  refuse  to  enter, 
and  immediately  after  the  concert  began. 

The  rivals  then  of  LuUi's  fame. 

Their  taste  and  skill  in  art  the  same, 

French  verse  most  dissonantly  play'd 

With  the  Italian  music's  aid  ; 

A  lady,  with  distorted  eyes. 

Acted  a  thousand  ecstasies ; 

A  coxcomb,  of  his  dress  quite  vain, 

Quaver'd  and  thrill'd  a  frantic  strain. 

And  beat  time  false,  which  made  them  soon 

All  equally  play  out  of  tune. 

We  left  the  place  as  fast  as  we  could,  and  we  did  not  arrive 
at  the  Temple  of  Taste,  till  after  we  had  met  with  many  adven- 
tures of  this  kind. 

On  basis  firm,  in  ancient  days, 
Greece  did  this  famous  Temple  raise. 
The  building,  with  revolving  years 
Increased,  to  menace  heaven  appears. 
The  world,  upon  its  altars  laid 
Incense,  and  adoration  paid  : 
To  own  the  power,  Rome  long  delay'd ; 
At  length,  to  Taste  the  homage  paid. 
The  Turk,  a  more  inveterate  foe, 
In  dust  the  edifice  laid  low.' 


1  When  Mahomet  II  took  Constantinople  in  1453,  all  the  Greeks  who 
cultivated  the  arts  took  refuge  in  Italy.     They  were  welcomed  chiefly  by 


378  THE  TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

The  niins,  by  the  Goths  neglected, 
Were  all  in  Italy  collected. 
Soon  the  first  Francis,  nobly  bold, 
Raised  a  new  Temple  like  the  old ; 
But  his  posterity  despised 
An  architecture  once  so  prized. 
Next  Richelieu  made  it  all  his  care 
The  abandon'd  Temple  to  repair. 
Louis  adorn'd  the  sacred  shrine, 
Colbert  invited  all  the  Nine — 
Each  art,  in  which  the  wise  excel, 
Beneath  the  Temple's  roof  to  dwell. 
By  this  the  first  shrine  was  surpass'd, 
But  much  I  doubt  it  will  not  last. 
Here  might  I  in  descriptive  verse 
The  beauties  of  the  shrine  rehearse. 
But  let  us  not,  to  show  our  skill  in 
Description,  simply  write  for  filling ; 
Let  us  prolixity  avoid, 
By  which  Felibien's  readers  cloy'd,' 
While  he  each  trifle  to  explain, 
Launches  into  rhetoric  strain. 
This  noble  building's  not  disgraced 
With  heaps  of  rubbish,  round  it  placed ; 
For  thus  our  Gothic  sires,  little  skill'd. 
Their  Gothic  structures  used  to  build.*^ 
The  shrine,  from  all  the  faults  we  see 
In  Versailles'  chapel  famed,  is  free ; 


the  houses  of  Medici,  d'Est,  and  Bentivoglio,  to  whom  Italy  owes  her 
politeness  and  glory. 

1  Felibien  wrote  five  volumes  on  painting,  but  there  is  far  less  informa- 
tion in  them  than  in  the  single  volume  of  Piles  (Amsterdam  edition). 

»  There  are  more  ornaments  on  the  portal  of  Notre  Dame  than  in  all  the 
edifices  of  Michael  Angelo,  Palladio,  and  Mansard. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE.  379 

That  gewgaw,  which  strikes  vulgar  eyes, 
But  which  all  men  of  taste  despise.' 

It  is  much  easier  to  give  a  negative  than  a  positive  idea  of 
this  Temple.    To  avoid  so  difficult  an  attempt  I  shall  only  add, 

The  structure's  of  a  simple  taste, 

Each  ornament  is  justly  placed ;  '^ 

The  whole's  arranged  with  so  much  care, 

Art  seems  to  copy  nature  there ; 

The  beauteous  structure  fills  the  sight, 

Not  with  surprise,  but  with  delight. 

The  temple  was  surrounded  with  a  crowd  of  virtuosos, 
artists,  and  connoisseurs  of  various  kinds,  who  endeavored  to 
enter,  but  did  not  succeed. 

For  criticism,  severe  and  just. 

Still  stood  before  that  shrine  august, 

Eepelling  all  the  efforts  rude 

Of  Goths,  who  would  in  crowds  intrude. 

How  many  men  of  quality,  how  many  persons  in  high 
vogue  with  the  public,  who  dictate  so  imperiously  to  little 
clubs,  are  refused  admittance  into  that  temple !  in  spite  of  the 
dinners  which  they  give  to  wits  and  in  spite  of  the  praises 
they  receive  in  the  newspapers. 

There  the  cabals  of  wits  no  more 
Have  the  same  power  they  had  before ; 
When  they  could  make  an  audience  praise 
Pradon's  and  Scuderi's^  wretched  lays, 

1  The  chapel  at  Versailles  is  out  of  all  proportion :  it  is  long  and  ridicu- 
lously narrow. 

2  Scuderi  was,  as  well  he  might  be,  the  declared  enemy  of  Corneille.  lie 
had  a  party,  which  greatly  preferred  him  to  that  father  of  the  stage. 


380  THE  TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

Against  the  all-immortal  scene 
Of  Corneillc  and  of  great  Racine. 

The  obscure  enemies  of  all-shining  merit,  those  insects  of 
society,  which  are  taken  notice  of  only  because  they  bite,  jvere 
repelled  with  equal  rudeness.  These  would  have  envied  the 
great  Conde  the  glory  he  acquired  at  Rocroy,  and  Villars  the 
reputation  he  gained  at  Denain,  as  much  as  they  envied  Cor- 
neille  for  having  written  Polyeucte.  They  would  have  assas- 
sinated Le  Brun  for  having  painted  the  family  of  Darius  ;  and 
they,  in  fact,  forced  Le  Moine  to  lay  violent  hands  upon  him- 
self for  having  painted  the  admirable  Saloon  of  Hercules. 
They  always  hold  in  their  hands  a  bowl  of  aconite,  like  that 
which  men  of  the  same  character  caused  Socrates  to  drink. 

Pride  coupled  with  Envy  in  odious  embrace. 
Gave  birth  to  this  cursed  and  detestable  race. 
Suspicion,  self-interest,  malignant  detraction. 
And  of  devotees  a  most  dangerous  faction ; 
These  in  secret  confed'racy  often  combine. 
And  to  the  cabal  ope  the  gates  of  the  shrine. 
There  a  Midas's  eyes  they  impose  on  with  ease ; 
Knaves  yield  them  support,  and  fools  glut  them  with 

praise ; 
True  merit  indignant  a  sad  silence  keeps ; 
Time  alone  wipes  his  tears,  while  in  secret  he  weeps. 

These  persecuting  wretches  fled  as  soon  as  they  saw  my  two 
guides.     Their  precipitate  flight  was  followed  by  something  of 

There  is  Rtill  extant  a  wretched  book  of  Sarrazin,  written  to  prove  that  a 
certain  piece  of  Scuderi's,  entitled  Tyrannic  Love^  is  the  best  dramatic 
piece  in  the  French  language.  This  Scuderi  boasted  that  four  door- 
keepers were  killed  when  one  of  his  pieces  was  represented,  and  said  he 
would  never  yield  to  Corneille  till  there  were  five  door-keepers  killed  at 
the  representation  of  the  Cid,  or  the  Horatii.  As  to  Pradon,  it  is  well- 
known,  that  his  Phedre  was,  at  first,  much  more  favorably  received  than 
that  of  Kacine ;  and  that  it  required  a  considerable  time  to  make  the  in- 
fluence of  a  party  give  way  to  merit. 


THE   TEMPLE    OF   TASTE.  381 

a  more  diverting  nature  :  this  was  a  crowd  of  writers  of  every 
rank,  age,  and  condition,  who  scratched  at  the  door,  and 
begged  of  Criticism  to  permit  them  to  enter.  One  brought 
with  him  a  mathematical  romance ;  another  a  speech  made 
before  the  academy ;  one  had  just  composed  a  metaphysical 
comedy ;  another  held  in  his  hand  a  collection  of  poems,  long 
since  privately  printed,  with  a  long  approbation  and  a  privi- 
lege;' another  presented  a  Pastoral  Address,  written  in  an 
affected  and  over-refined  style,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that 
all  present  laughed  instead  of  asking  his  blessing.  "  I  am  the 
reverend  Father  Albert  Garassus,"  said  a  Benedictine.  "  I 
preach  better  than  Bourdaloue;  for  Bourdaloue  never  had 
books  burned  :  and  I  declaimed  so  violently  against  Peter 
Bayle,  in  a  small  province  full  of  sound  sense,  I  so  touched  my 
hearers,  that  six  severally  burnt  their  Bayles.  Never  had  elo- 
quence so  noble  a  triumph."  "  Go,  Brother  Garassus,"  said 
Criticism ;  "  go,  savage ;  leave  the  Temple  of  Taste.  Leave 
my  temple,  modern  Visigoth,  who  insults  one  whom  I  inspire." 
"  I  bring  Mary  Alacoque,"  said  a  very  grave  man.*^  "  Go,  sup 
with  her,"  said  the  goddess. 

A  prating  sir,  with  voice  acute. 
Cries,  "  I'm  the  judge  of  each  dispute ; 
I  argue,  contradict,  and  prate ; 
What  others  like  I'm  sure  to  hate." 
Then  Criticism  appearing,  cried, 
"  Your  merit  is  by  none  denied ; 
But  since  Taste's  godhead  you  reject, 
To  enter  here  do  not  expect." 

Bardou  then  cried  out,  "  The  world's  in  an  error,  and  will 
always  continue  so  :  there's  no  god  of  Taste,  and  I'll  prove  it 

'  Most  bad  books  have  been  printed  with  approbation  replete  with 
praises.  Censors  in  this  fail  in  respect  to  the  public.  Their  duty  is  not 
to  decide  whether  a  book  is  good,  but  whether  it  contains  any  thing 
against  the  State. 

2  Languet  de  Gergy,  bishop  of  Soissons. 


382  THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE. 

thus."  Then  he  laid  down  a  proposition,  divided  and  subdivided 
it;  but  nobody  listened,  and  a  greater  multitude  than  ever 
crowded  to  the  gate. 

Amid  the  various  coxcombs  chased 
By  judgment  from  the  shrine  of  Taste, 
La  Motte  Houdard'  among  the  rest 
Softly  approach'd,  and  thus  address'd : 
"  Keceive  my  (Edipus  in  prose ; 
Roughly,  'tis  true,  I  verse  compose  : 
I  must  with  Boileau  hold  converse. 
And  speak  in  taste  against  all  verse." 

Criticism  knew  him  by  his  gentle  deportment  and  the 
roughness  of  his  last  two  lines,  and  she  left  him  awhile  be- 
tween Perrault  and  Chapelain,  who  had  laid  a  fifty  years'  siege 
to  the  temple,  constantly  exclaiming  against  Virgil. 

At  that  very  moment  there  arrived  another  versifier,  sup- 
ported by  two  little  satyrs,  and  crowned  with  laurels  and 
thistles. 

"  I  come  hither  to  laugh,  to  sport,  and  to  play, 

And  make  merry,"  said  he,  "  till  the  dawn  of  the  day."  ^ 

"  What's  this  I  hear  ?"  said  Criticism.  "  'Tis  I,"  answered  the 
rhymer;  "I  am  just  come  from  Germany  to  visit  you,  and  1 
have  chosen  the  Spring  of  the  year  to  travel  in. 

"  The  season  in  which  the  young  ZephjTs  melt 
The  bark  of  the  floods."  2 

»  Houdard  La  Motte,  in  1728,  wrote  an  (Edipus  in  prose,  and  another  in 
verse.  As  for  his  CEdipus  in  prose,  nobody  could  ever  bear  to  read  it. 
His  CEdipus  in  verse  was  acted  three  times.  It  was  printed  with  his  other 
dramatic  works ;  and  the  author  took  care  to  prefix  to  it  an  advertisement, 
importing  that  the  performance  of  it  was  interrupted  during  the  most  ex- 
traordinary success.  This  author  composed  several  works,  which  are  very 
much  esteemed,  some  fine  odes,  pretty  operas,  and  dissertations  extremely 
well  written. 

a  A  couplet  of  Eousseau's.  3  Lines  of  Eousseau's. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE.  383 

The  more  he  spoke  in  this  style,  the  less  was  Criticism  dis- 
posed to  open  the  door  to  him.  "  What,"  said  he,  "  am  I  then 
taken  for 

"  A  frog,  who  from  his  narrow  throat 
^  Still, utters,  in  discordant  note, 

Brekeke,  kake,  koax,  koax  ?" ' 

"  Heavens,"  cried  Criticism,  "  what  horrible  jargon  is  this  ?" 
She  could  not  immediately  guess  who  the  person  was  that  ex- 
pressed himself  in  this  manner.  She  was  told  it  was  Rousseau, 
and  that  the  Muses  had  altered  his  voice  as  a  punishment  for 
his  misdeeds.  She  could  not  believe  it,  and  refused  to  open 
the  door.  Yet  she  opened  for  the  sake  of  his  first  verses ;  but 
exclaimed : 

"  0  ye  who  hear  me,  gentle  wits, 

-If  you  the  favor  prize  divine 

Of  him  who  rules  Parnassus  high. 

And  in  your  verse  as  it  befits 

Would  have  Taste  all  his  charms  supply, 

Chant  all  your  strains  in  Paris  mine, 

Nor  strike  the  lyre  'neath  German  sky." 

Then  making  me  approach,  she  said  in  a  whisper :  "  Thou 
knowest  him ;  he  was  thy  enemy,  and  thou  dost  him  justice." 

"  Do  not  his  weakness  thou  repeat, 
In  rhyming  far  beyond  his  time  ; 
The  fruit  that  fills  Permessus'  seat 
Grows  only  in  the  Spring's  fair  clime. 
And  age,  sad  hour  devoid  of  heat, 
Only  to  good  sense  e'er  can  climb." 

Criticism,  after  having  given  this  advice,  adjudged,  that 
Rousseau  should  take  place  of  La  Motte  as  a  versifier ;  but 

»  Verses  of  Kousseau's. 


384:  THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE. 

that  La  Motte  should  have  the  precedence,  whenever  genius 
or  understanding  were  the  subjects  of  dispute. 

These  two  men,  so  different  from  each  other,  had  not 
walked  four  steps,  when  the  one  turned  pale  with  rage,  and 
the  other  leaped  with  joy,  at  the  sight  of  a  man,  who  had  been 
a  long  time  in  tlie  temple,  sometimes  in  one  place,  and  some- 
times in  another. 

This  was  the  learned  Fontenelle, 
Who  could  in  all  the  arts  excel. 
And  on  each  branch  of  science  threw 
A  light  that  pleased,  because  'twas  new ; 
He  from  a  planet  came  post-haste 
Back  to  the  sacred  shrine  of  taste ; 
Reason'd  with  Mairan,  with  Quinault, 
Trifled  away  an  hour  or  so  ; 
And  managed  with  an  equal  skill 
The  lyre,  the  compass,  and  the  quill. 

"  What,"  cried  Rousseau,  "  shall  I  see  that  man  here,  that 
man  against  whom  I  have  written  so  many  epigrams  ?  What, 
shall  Taste  suffer  in  her  temple  the  author  of  the  Letters  of 
Chevalier  (THer  . . . ,  oiAn  Autumnal  Passion^  of  Moonlight^  of 
A  Brook  in  love  with  a  Meadow,  of  the  Tragedy  of  Aspar,  of 
Endymion^  etc.  ?"  "  No,"  answered  Criticism,  "  'tis  not  the  author 
of  those  works  that  you  see  before  you  ;  'tis  the  author  of  the 
Plurality  of  Worlds,  a  work  that  should  have  instructed  thee  ; 
who  composed  Thetis  and  Peleus,  an  opera  that  in  vain  excites 
your  envy,  and  the  History  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences,  which 
you  are  not  capable  of  understanding." 

Rousseau  went  off  to  write  an  epigram,  and  Fontenelle  looked 
upon  him  with  that  philosophical  compassion,  which  every 
man  of  an  enlightened  mind  must  have  for  a  mere  rhymer, 
and  then  went  and  seated  himself  with  great  composure  be- 
tween Lucretius  and  Leibnitz.' 

>  Leibnitz  was  born  at  Leipsic,  on  the  23d  of  June,  1646,  and  died  at 
Banc's  er  on  the  14th  of  November,  1716,    He  was  the  greatest  ornament 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE.  385 

I  asked  liow  Leibnitz  came  to  be  there  ?  I  was  told  that  it 
was  because  he  had  written  tolerably  good  Latin  verses,  though 
he  was  versed  both  in  metaphysics  and  geometry,  and  that 
Criticism  admitted  him  into  her  temple,  to  soften,  by  such  an 
example,  the  austerity  of  his  scientific  brethren. 

Criticism  then  turned  to  the  author  of  the  Plurality  of 
Worlds,  and  said  :  "  I  shall  not  reproach  you  with  some  of  your 
juvenile  performances,  as  these  zealous  cynics  have  done  :  but 
I  am  Criticism ;  you  are  now  in  the  presence  of  the  god  of 
Taste,  and  I  must  thus  address  you  in  the  name  of  that  god, 
the  public,  and  myself;  for  we  all  three  agree  in  the  main. 

"  Your  sportful  and  instructive  Muse, 
Of  art  should  not  be  so  profuse  ; 
Her  charms  are,  surely,  not  so  faint. 
As  to  require  the  aid  of  paint." 

As  for  Lucretius,  he  blushed  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  cardinal, 
his  adversary ;  but  no  sooner  did  he  hear  him  speak  than  he 
conceived  a  friendship  for  him  :  he  ran  to  him,  and  accosted 
him  in  very  fine  Latin  verses,  which  I  translate  very  indif- 
ferently : 

"  Misled  by  Epicurus'  lore, 

Methought  I  nature  could  explore. 

And,  as  a  god,  the  man  admired, 

Who,  with  presumptuous  fury  fired. 

Dared  impious  war  with  heaven  to  wage, 

The  gods  dethroning  in  his  rage. 

I  thought  the  soul  a  transient  fire. 

Dissolved  the  moment  we  expire  ; 

of  letters  that  Germany  ever  produced :  he  was  a  more  universal  genius 
than  Newton,  though,  perhaps,  not  so  great  a  mathematician.  To  a  pro- 
found knowledge  in  every  branch  of  natural  philosophy,  he  added  a  re- 
fined taste  for  polite  learning  ;  he  even  wrote  French  poetry.  He  seemed 
to  be  visionary  in  metaphysics ;  but  in  that  he  resembles  all  who  have 
attempted  to  frame  systems.  He  owed  his  fortune  entirely  to  his  reputa- 
tion. He  enjoyed  considerable  pensions  from  the  Emperor  of  Germany, 
the  Emperor  of  Kussia,  the  King  of  England,  and  many  other  sovereigns. 

17 


THE  TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

I,  now,  no  more  with  truth  contend : 
The  soul  shall  never  have  an  end ; 
But  of  existence  always  sure, 
Like  all  thy  works  and  mine  endure. .  .  ." 

The  cardinal  answered  this  compliment  in  the  language  of 
Lucretius.  All  the  Latin  poets  present,  from  his  air  and  style, 
judged  him  to  be  an  ancient  Roman ;  but  the  French  poets 
are  highly  displeased  at  authors  composing  verses  in  a  lan- 
guage which  is  no  longer  spoken  ;  and  they  affirm,  that  since 
Lucretius,  born  at  Rome,  wrote  a  Latin  poem  upon  the  phi- 
losophy of  Epicurus,  his  adversary,  born  at  Paris,  should  have 
written  against  him  in  French.  To  conclude ;  after  several 
such  amusing  delays,  we,  at  last,  arrived  at  the  temple  of  the 
god  of  Taste. 

I  saw  the  god,  whom  I  in  vain 

Implore  for  aid  in  every  strain ; 

That  god,  who  never  was  defined ; 

Whose  essence  'scapes  the  searching  mind  ; 

To  whom  just  service  few  can  pay. 

Though  they  with  such  devotion  pray ; 

Who  animates  La  Fontaine's  strain. 

And  Vadius  searches  for  in  vain. 

The  Graces  he  consults,  whose  ease, 

With  native  beauty  join'd,  can  please  ; 

Graces,  which  other  nations  own. 

Are  best  to  the  French  writers  known ; 

Which  others  oft  to  copy  tried ; 

Which  by  strict  rules  are  never  tied ; 

Which  reign'd  at  court,  in  times  of  yore. 

With  which  love  crowns  the  Gallic  shore. 

Around  the  god  the  tender  band 

Of  Graces  still  obsequious  stand ; 

They,  to  adorn  the  god,  attend — 

He  pleases  by  the  charms  they  lend — 


^ 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   TASTE.  38' 

And  they  on  him  the  wreath  bestow, 
Which  he  that  bends  the  silver  bow, 
Apollo  from  Parnassus'  height, 
Twined  him  of  Maro's  laurel  bright, 
Myrtle  and  ivy  which  inclose 
A  Flaccus'  brow,  Anacreon's  rose. 
His  front,  the  mirror  of  his  mind, 
Show'd  wisdom  by  true  taste  refined  ; 
Wit  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  his  air 
Was  such  as  might  his  soul  declare. 
To  prove  his  beauty  is  divine, 
Silvia,  his  face  resembles  thine  ; 
Thus  'neath  a  veil  I  hide  your  name. 
Lest  envious  myriads  should  declaim. 
In  cries  of  passion,  as  thy  charms 
Their  jealous  heart  fill  with  alarms. 
Eollin'  not  far,  with  action  grave. 
To  youth  his  learned  lessons  gave. 
And  though  in  his  professor's  chair. 
Was  listen'd  to,  a  thing  most  rare  ! 


1  Charles  EoUin,  formerly  rector  of  the  university  and  royal  pro- 
fessor, is  the  first  member  of  the  university  that  ever  wrote  in  elegant 
French  for  the  instruction  of  youth,  and  that  recommended  the  study  of 
our  language  as  necessary,  though  neglected  in  the  schools.  His  treat- 
ise upon  studies  breathes  elegant  taste,  and  is  replete  "with  learning 
throughout.  He  is  reproached  with  nothing  but  having  dwelt  too  much 
upon  things  of  little  importance.  He  has  never  lost  sight  of  taste,  but 
where  he  has  aimed  at  humor;  torn,  iii,  p.  303,  in  speaking  o^Cyrus,  "  Im- 
mediately," says  he,  "  little  Cyrus  was  dressed  out  as  a  cup-bearer ;  he 
approached,  gravely,  with  a  napkin  on  his  shoulder,  and  holding  the  cup, 
genteelly,  with  three  fingers ;  '  I  was  in  doubt,'  said  he,  '  whether  this 
liquor  were  not  poison.'  'How  sol'  'Yes,  papa.'  "  And  in  another 
place,  speaking  of  the  several  sorts  of  play  which  children  may  be  indulged 
in,  he  expresses  himself  thus :  "A  ball,  a  foot-ball,  a  top,  are  very  much  to 
their  taste."  And  liv.  vii,  part  ii,  ch.  2,  art.  iv,  "  From  the  roof-tree  to 
the  cellar,  all  spoke  Latin  at  Kobert  Estienne's."  It  were  to  be  wished 
these  exceptionable  pleasantries  were  corrected  in  the  first  new  edition  of 
a  book  so  valuable  in  other  respects. 


388  THE  TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

Meantime  in  an  apartment  by, 
Which  Girardon  with  Puget  vie' 
With  statues  to  adorn,  where  taste 
As  well  as  just  expression's  traced, 
Wisely  on  canvas  Poussin'^  show'd 
What  genius  in  his  bosom  glow'd. 
Le  Brun,'  with  elevated  mind, 
And  genius  nobly  bold,  design'd. 
Le  Sueur,*  in  his  art  complete. 
Between  both  painters  took  his  seat ; 
None  murmur'd  to  behold  him  there — 
All  own'd  him  worthy  of  the  chair. 
The  god,  who  with  a  critic  eye 
Could  every  pencil's  stroke  espy, 

1  Girardon's  statues  excelled  in  grace,  Puget's  in  expression.  The  baths 
of  Apollo  were  done  by  Girardon,  and  so  is  that  master-piece  of  modern 
sculpture.  Cardinal  Eichelieu's  mausoleum  at  the  Sorbonne.  The  Milo 
and  Andromeda  are  Puget's. 

a  Poussin,  born  at  Andelys  in  1594,  had  no  master  but  his  genius,  as- 
sisted by  a  few  prints  of  Eaphael's,  which  accidentally  fell  into  his  hands, 
A  desire  to  consult  the  beautiful  remains  of  antiquity  made  him  under- 
take a  journey  to  Kome,  notwithstanding  the  obstacles  which  extreme 
poverty  laid  in  his  way.  He  there  produced  several  masterpieces,  which 
he  sold  for  but  seven  crowns  apiece.  Being  invited  to  Prance  by  the  Sec- 
retary of  State,  Desnoyers,  he  there  established  the  fine  taste  in  painting ; 
but  being  persecuted  by  his  rivals,  he  returned  to  Eome,  where  he  died 
with  a  great  reputation,  and  no  fortune.  He  has  sacrificed  coloring  to  the 
other  parts  of  painting.  This  is  too  gloomy  in  his  Sacraments  ;  yet  there 
is  in  the  Duke  of  Orleans'  closet,  a  Conversion  of  St.  Paul  by  Poussin, 
which  hangs  by  Eaphael's  Vision  of  Ezekiel,  and  is  lively  enough  in  its 
coloring.  This  picture  loses  nothing  by  being  compared  to  that  of 
Raphael ;  they  both  give  equal  satisfaction  to  the  beholder. 

3  Le  Brun,  the  scholar  of  Vouet,  was  defective  only  in  the  coloring.  The 
colors  in  his  pictures  of  Alexander's  family  are  better  than  those  of  his 
battles.  This  painter  has  not  so  exquisite  a  taste  for  antiquity  as  Poussin 
and  Eaphael ;  but  he  ;s  equal  to  Eaphael  in  invention,  and  superior  to 
Poussin  in  vivacity.  The  prints  of  Alexander's  battles,  by  Le  Brun,  are 
more  sought  than  those  by  Eaphael  and  Julius  Eomano. 

*  Eustache  le  Sueur  was  an  excellent  painter,  though  he  never  was  in 
Italy.  All  his  works  were  in  the  high  taste  ;  but  he  was  defective  in  his 
coloring  as  well  as  the  other  two.  These  three  painters  are  at  the  head  of 
the  French  school. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE.  3S0 

Grieved,  while  he  much  admired  their  art, 
They  could  not  to  their  works  impart 
Those  vivid  colors,  whose  bright  glow 
On  nature's  self  new  charms  bestow. 
A  crowd  of  Loves  before  him  play'd, 
And  to  his  touch  new  force  convey'd. 
And  raised  each  beauty  to  its  height, 
By  adding  Rubens' '  colors  bright. 

I  was  surprised  that  I  did  not  meet  at  the  sanctuary  several 
persons,  who,  sixty  or  eighty  years  ago,  passed  for  the  greatest 
favorites  of  the  god  of  Taste.  The  Pavilions,  the  Benserades, 
the  Pelissons,  the  Segrais,^  the  St.  Evremonds,  the  Balzacs,  the 
Yoitures,  were  no  longer  in  possession  of  the  first  places. 
They  possessed  them  heretofore,  said  one  of  my  guides ;  they 
made  a  figure  before  the  bright  period  of  the  learned  world  ; 
but  they  have,  at  length,  given  place  to  men  of  real  genius. 
At  present  they  are  but  little  considered  ;  and,  in  fact,  most  of 
them  had  only  the  wit  peculiar  to  their  age,  and  not  that 
species  of  wit  which  reaches  posterity. 


1  Eubens  is  equal  to  Titian  in  his  coloring ;  but  he  is  very  much  inferior 
to  our  French  painters  in  the  correctness  of  design. 

2  Segrais  is  but  a  very  indifferent  poet.  Nobody  reads  his  eclogues, 
though  they  are  praised  by  Boileau,  His  yEneid  is  in  the  style  of  Chape- 
lain.  He  wrote  an  opera  upon  the  subject  of  Eoland  and  Angelica,  with 
the  title  of  Love  cured  hy  Time.    In  the  prologue  are  these  lines  : 

Pour  couronner  leur  teto 

En  cette  fete, 
AUons  dans  nos  jardins, 
Avec  les  lys  de  Charlemagne, 
Assembler  les  jasmins 
Qui  perfument  TEspagnes. 

Their  heads  to  crown, 

On  such  a  day 

Let's  walk  into  our  gardens  gay, 

And  with  the  lilies  of  Charlemagne 

Gather  the  jessamin  of  Spain. 

Zdide  is  a  romance,  written  with  great  purity  of  language,  and  read  by 
everybody ;  but  it  was  not  written  by  Segrais. 


390  THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE. 

The  graces  of  their  feeble  lays 
Are  faded  quite  in  these  our  days ; 
None  them  as  geniuses  admit, 
But  all  agree  to  praise  their  wit. 

Segrais  attempted  one  day  to  enter  the  sanctuary,  at  the 
same  time  repeating  the  following  verse  of  Boileau  : 

Que  Segrais  dans  I'eclogue  en  charme  les  forfits. 
Let  Segrais  charm  the  woods  with  rural  lays. 

But  Criticism  having,  unhappily  for  him,  read  a  few  pages 
of  his  JEneid  in  French  verse,  dismissed  him  a  little  roughly, 
and  in  his  place  admitted  Madame  de  la  Fayette,'  who  pub- 
lished the  delightful  romances  of  Za'ide  and  the  Princess  of 
Cleves,  under  the  name  of  Segrais. 

Pelisson'^  is  not  easily  excused,  for  having  in  his  History  of 


»  M.  Huet,  bishop  of  Avranches,  tells  us,  in  the  204th  page  of  his  Com- 
mentaries, that  Madame  de  la  Fayette  was  so  indifferent  about  reputation, 
that  she  suffered  her  Zdide  to  appear  under  the  name  of  Segrais ;  and  when 
I  related  this  anecdote,  some  of  Segrais'  friends,  who  were  ignorant  of  the 
truth,  complained  of  this  as  an  outrage  to  his  memory.  But  it  is  a  fact  to 
my  certain  knowledge,  and  I  could  prove  it  by  many  letters  of  Madame  de 
la  Fayette,  and  by  the  original  manuscript  of  Zdide,  the  sheets  of  which 
she  sent  me  as  she  wrote  it. 

2  Here  are  some  of  the  strokes  which  Pelisson  cites  as  pieces  of  wit.  A 
marriage  being  talked  of  between  Voiture,  who  was  the  son  of  a  vintner, 
and  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  king's  purveyors,  these  lines  were  written 
upon  the  occasion — 

O  que  ce  beau  couple  d'amants, 

Va  gouter  de  contentements ! 
Que  leurs  d61ices  seront  grandes, 

lis  seront  toujours  en  festin  ; 
Car  si  la  Prou  fournit  les  viandes, 

Voiture  fournira  le  vin  ! 

He  adds,  in  a  party  where  they  were  acting  charades,  Voiture  having 
given  a  proverb,  which  Madame  Desloges  did  not  like,  she  said,  "This  is 
a  bad  one,  tap  another."  His  history  of  the  academy  is  filled  with  such 
trivial  cvrcumstances,  and  written  in  so  languishing  a  style,  that  whoever 
reads  it  without  prejudice,  is  surprised  at  his  having  so  great  a  reputation. 
But  at  that  time,  forty  persons  had  interested  motives  for  praising  it. 


THE   TEMPLE    OF   TASTE.  391 

the  French  Academy,  gravely  related  so  many  puerilities,  and 
cited,  as  strokes  of  wit,  things  whicli  by  no  means  deserve  that 
name.  The  soft,  but  weak  Pavilion,  humbly  pays  his  court  to 
Madame  Deshoulieres,  who  is  placed  far  above  him.  The 
unequal  St.  Evremond,'  does  not  presume  to  speak  of  poetry. 
Balzac,  with  his  long-winded,  hyperbolical  phrases,  tires  the 
patience  of  Benserade  and  Voiture,^  who  answer  him  by  an- 
tithesis and  quibbles,  which  they  are  afterwards  ashamed  of 
themselves,  I  went  in  quest  of  the  famous  Count  de  Bussy. 
Madame  de  Sevigne,  who  is  beloved  by  all  who  dwell  in  the 
Temple,  told  me,  that  her  dear  cousin,  a  man  of  great  wit,  but 
a  little  too  vain,  could  never  succeed  so  far,  as  to  make  the 


1  Everybody  knows  that  St.  Evremond  was  a  wretched  poet.  His  com- 
edies are  his  very  worst  productions  ;  yet  so  great  was  his  reputation,  that 
he  was  offered  five  hundred  guineas  for  the  copy  of  his  Sir  FoUtich  WouMbe. 

a  Voiture  had  the  most  reputation  of  any  of  these  celebrated  persons  of 
former  days,  yet  his  works  deserve  it  the  least,  if  you  except  four  or  five 
little  poems,  and  about  as  many  letters.  He  was  reckoned  as  great  a 
master  of  the  epistolary  manner  of  writing  as  Pliny ;  and  yet  his  letters  are 
not  superior  to  those  of  Le  Pays  and  Boursault.  These  are  some  of  his 
strokes :  "  "When  you  tear  my  heart  into  a  thousand  pieces,  there  is  not 
one  that  is  not  very  much  at  your  service ;  and  one  of  your  smiles  sweetens 
my  bitterest  grief.  I  do  not  lie  when  I  tell  you  that  my  uneasiness  at 
being  dep^^ived  of  your  company  costs  me  a  hundred  thousand  tears.  I 
advise  you,  seriously,  to  make  yourself  king  of  Madeira.  Think  what  a 
pleasure  it  would  be  to  possess  a  kingdom  of  sugar ;  in  truth,  we  should 
live  very  sweetly  in  it."  He  writes  to  Chapelain  thus :  "  I  must  tell  you 
that  whenever  I  reflect  that  I  am  writing  to  the  most  judicious  man  of  the 
age,  to  the  author  of  lAonne^  and  the  Maid  of  Orleans^  my  hair  stands  on 
end,  like  the  bristles  of  a  porcupine."  His  poetry  is  sometimes  flat  beyond 
all  expression. 

Nous  trouvames  prds  Sercotte, 
Cas  6trange  et  vrai  pourtant, 
Des  boeufs  qu'on  voyait  broutant ; 
Dessua  le  haut  d'nne  inotte, 
Et  plus  bas  quelques  cochons, 
Et  bon  nombre  de  moutons. 

Yet  Voiture  is  admired  because  he  was  born  in  an  age  that  was  just 
emerging  out  of  barbarism,  when  people  aimed  at  wit,  without  knowing 
what  it  was.  It  is  true,  Boileau  compared  him  to  Horace,  but  that  was 
when  Boileau  was  young.  He,  with  pleasure,  paid  that  tribute  to  the 
reputation  of  Voiture,  that  he  might  attack  that  of  Chapelain,  who  passed 
for  the  greatest  genius  then  in  Europe. 


392  THE;.*'j^lffPLE   OF  TASTE. 

god  of  Taste-  entertain  the  same  favorable  opinion  of  Roger  do 
Rabutin,  which  the  Count  de  Bussy  had  of  him. 

Bussy,  for  pride  and  self-love  famed, 
Is  by  the  god  severely  blamed ; 
Because,  too  much  a  slave  to  fame, 
Himself  he  often  made  his  theme.' 
His  son  with  every  talent  graced, 
Is  always  well  received  by  Taste  ; 
He  flatters  none,  of  none  speaks  ill ; 
His  conversation  pleases  still ; 
He  shows  that  wit  and  eloquence. 
To  which  his  father  makes  pretence. 
Chaulieu,''  who,  gay  and  void  of  care 
Rising  from  table  sung  an  air, 
Addressed  the  godhead  as  a  friend, 
"With  freedom  which  could  not  offend. 


1  He  wrote  to  the  king  in  these  terms :  "  Sire,  such  a  man  as  I  am,  who 
have  wit,  birth,  and  courage.  I  have  birth,  and  it  is  said  I  have  wit, 
which  gives  vahie  to  all  I  say." 

2  The  Abbe  de  Chaulieu,  in  an  epistle  to  the  Marquis  de  la  Fare,  known 
to  the  public  by  the  appellation  of  the  deist,  says  : 

.Tal  vu  de  pres  le  Styx ;  j'ni  vu  les  Eumenides, 
D6ji  venaicnt  frapper  mps  oroilles  timides 
Les  aflfreui  cris  du  chien  de  Tempire  de  luorts. 

The  very  next  moment  he  draws  the  picture  of  a  confessor,  and  speaks 
of  the  God  of  Israel, 

Lorsqu'au  bord  de  mon  lit  une  voix  menacante, 
Des  volontes  du  ciel  interprete  eflfrayante. 

Such  is  the  confessor.    In  another  poem  upon  the  divinity,  he  says, 

D'an  dieu,  moteur  de  tout,  j'adore  Texistence, 
Ainsi  Ton  doit  passer  avec  tranquillity, 
Les  ans  que  nous  depart  Taveugle  destinee. 

These  remarks  are  exact,  and  M.  de  Saint  Marc  errs  in  his  edition  of  Chau- 
lieu in  denying  that  they  are.  Many  such  contradictions  occur  in  his  poems. 
There  are  not  three  pieces  among  them  correct  throughout ;  but  the  fine 
sentiments,  and  beautiful  imagery,  for  which  they  are  conspicuous,  atone 
for  their  defects.  The  Abbe  de  Chaulieu  died  in  1720,  almost  fourscore, 
with  great  fortitude. 


THE   TEMPL^\C£' TASTE.  /^^ 

His  lively  and  luxuriant ^^^^•'yii**^*;^ 

Roves  unconfined,  nor  lieeds  the  rei 

His  muse  disdaining  all  control, 

With  native  beauties  charms  the  soul. 

La  Fare,'  with  softness  tempering  fire, 

Tuned  to  a  lower  note  his  lyre, 

And  pour'd  forth  in  his  mistress'  praise 

His  incorrect,  but  spritely  lays ; 

Which  might  from  ease  and  pleasure  spring. 

Though  Phoebus  had  not  taught  to  sing. 

There  Hamilton,^  whose  darts  ne'er  fail. 

At  all  mankind  and  more  did  rail ; 

There  St.  Aulaire,  who  for  old  age, 

Surpass'd  Anacreon  the  sage. 

Could  all  love's  joys  and  cares  rehearse. 

In  softer  and  more  pleasing  verse ; 

Cytherian  chaplets  graced  his  head. 

With  hoary  honors  overspread. 

The  god  had  a  great  affection  for  these  gentlemen,  especially 
for  those  who  piqued  themselves  upon  nothing.  He  hinted  to 
Chaulieu,  that  he  should  look  upon  himself  as  the  first  of 
negligent  poets,  not  as  the  first  of  gjpod  poets. 

They  conversed  with  some  of  the  most  amiable  men  of  their 
age.  Their  conversations  were  equally  free  from  the  affecta- 
tion of  the  Hotel  de  Rambouillet,  and  from  the  confusion 
which  reigns  among  our  young  fellows.^  ' 

1  The  Marquis  de  la  Fare,  author  of  the  memoirs  published  in  his  name, 
and  of  some  pieces  of  poetry,  in  which  the  gentleness  of  his  nature  dis- 
plays itself,  should  rather  be  considered  as  an  amiable  man,  than  an  amia- 
ble poet.  He  died  in  1718 ;  his  poems  were  printed  with  the  works  of  the 
Abbe  de  Chaulieu,  his  intimate  friend,  and  preceded  by  a  preface  extremely 
partial  and  full  of  faults. 

"  Anthony  Count  Hamilton,  born  at  Caen  in  Normandy,  wrote  verses 
replete  with  fire  and  liveliness.  He  had  a  strong  bent  to  satire.  M.  de 
St.  Aulaire,  when  almost  ninety,  wrote  exceedingly  pretty  songs. 

»  Boileau  went  to  read  his  works  at  the  Hotel  de  Kambouillet.  He  there 
17» 


394  THE  TEMPLE   OF   TASTE. 

Now  hence  witli  equal  shame  are  chased 
Affected  and  pedantic  taste, 
The  stiff  and  syllogistic  air, 
The  rage  which  strives  to  overbear. 
There  gracefully  we  see  unite 
Learning  profound  with  humor  light ; 
And  with  precision  close  we  find 
The  sallies  of  the  human  mind. 
Genius  in  hundred  forms  is  there  ; 
It  jests  and  knows  a  jest  to  bear ; 
For  fear  of  tiring,  there  the  wise 
Put  on  e'en  pleasantry's  disguise. 

Chapelle  was  there ;  that  genius  more  debauched  than  deli- 
cate ;  more  natural  than  polite ;  an  easy  versifier,  incorrect  in 
his  style,  and  licentious  in  his  thoughts.  He  constantly  an- 
swered the  god  of  Taste  in  the  same  rhymes.  'Tis  said  that 
god  once  answered  him  thus  : 

"  Chapelle,  henceforward,  less  admire 

Reiterated  rhymes  ;  they  tire ; 

Those  strings  of  syllables  display'd 

By  Richelet,  ill  ^poet  aid ; 

That  author's  dictionary  gleaning, 

In  double  rhymes  you'll  have  no  meaning," 

In  this  agreeable  company,  I  met  the  President  de  Maisons, 
a  man  of  a  very  difi'erent  character,  not  at  all  used  to  utter 
words  without  a  meaning ;  a  man  as  solid  as  agreeable,  and 
equally  a  lover  of  all  the  arts. 

"  Dear  Maisons,  is  it  thee  I  then  embrace  ?" 
Cried  I,  whilst  trickling  tears  bedew'd  my  face ; 

met  Chapelain,  Cotin,  and  others,  equally  void  of  taste,  who  received  him 
very  ill. 


THE   TEMPLE    OF   TASTE.  395 

"  Thou  wlio  wast  snatch'd  from  me  by  cruel  death, 
Who,  in  my  arms,  when  young,  resign'd  thy  breath  ! 
Deaf  to  my  prayer,  inexorable  Fate 
Was  bent  two  dearest  friends  to  separate  ; 
Ah  !  since  its  rigor  either's  death  required. 
Thou  shouldst  have  lived,  and  I  should  have  expired. 
Since  my  sad  eyes  first  open'd  on  the  sphere, 
'Twas  Heaven's  decree  I  should  be  wretched  here ; 
Thy  path  of  life  by  Heaven  was  strew'd  with  flowers. 
And  heartfelt  joy  wing'd  all  thy  golden  hours. 
With  pleasures,  and  with  honors  compass'd  round, 
In  arts  thy  wisdom  full  contentment  found  : 
Weakness  is  not  of  worth,  like  thine,  the  source  ; 
O'er  such  a  mind  opinion  ne'er  had  force ; 
Man's  born  to  err ;  the  potter's  forming  hand, 
Soft  earth  is  far  less  able  to  withstand. 
Than  can  the  mind  resist  the  potent  sway 
Of  prejudice,  which  mortals  still  obey. 
To  such  vile  slavery  thou  refus'dst  to  bend, 
Thy  time  thou  gav'st  to  study,  and  a  friend  ; 
And  in  thy  nature  were  at  once  combined, 
A  tender  heart,  and  philosophic  mind." 

Among  these  wits  we  met  some  Jesuits.  A  Jansenist  would 
say  upon  this,  that  the  Jesuits  intrude  .everywhere,  but  the 
god  of  Taste  receives  their  enemies  too ;  and  it  is  diverting  to 
see  in  this  Temple,  Bourdaloue  conversing  with  Pascal,  upon 
the  great  art  of  uniting  eloquence  and  close  reasoning.  Father 
Bouhours  stands  behind  them,  setting  down  in  his  pocket-book 
all  the  improprieties  and  inelegancies  of  language  which 
escape  them.  The  cardinal  could  not  help  addressing  Father 
Bouhours  thus : 

"  The  care  each  little  fault  to  spy — 
Pedantic  diligence — lay  by ; 


396  THE   TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

Let  us  in  eloquence  respect 
Each  careless  phrase  and  bold  defect. 
Were  I  to  choose,  I  should  prefer 
Wild  genius,  and  with  it  to  err. 
Rather  than  be  the  wight  who  dwells 
On  syllables,  who  scans  and  spells." 

Tliis  reprimand  was  expressed  in  terms  much  more  polite 
than  tliose  which  I  have  made  use  of;  but  we  poets  are  some- 
times guilty  of  deviations  from  good  breeding,  for  the  sake  of  a 
rhyme.  When  I  visited  this  Temple,  my  attention  was  not 
entirely  engaged  by  the  wits. 

Harmonious  Verse,  and  Prose  refined, 
To  you  alone,  I'm  not  confined ; 
I  scorn  a  taste  that's  fix'd  on  parts ; 
And  now  invoke  all  pleasing  arts. 
Music  and  painting,  arts  divine. 
With  architecture's  great  design, 
Graving  and  dancing,  all  unite 
My  soul  to  ravish  with  delight ; 
From  all  arts  pleasure  must  arise ; 
'     None  then  are  slighted  by  the  wise. 

I  saw  the  Muses,  by  turns,  place  upon  the  altar  of  the  god, 
books,  designs,  and  plans  of  various  kinds.  Upon  this  altar 
is  to  be  seen  the  plar^  of  that  beautiful  front  of  the  Louvre  for 
which  we  are  not  indebted  to  Bernini,  who,  with  great  expense, 
and  to  no  purpose,  was  brought  into  France,  it  being  the  work 
of  Perrault  and  Louis  le  Vau,  great  artists,  whose  merit  is 
too  little  known.  There,  likewise,  is  the  plan  of  St.  Denis's 
gate,  to  the  beauty  of  which  most  Parisians  arc  as  insensi- 
ble as  they  are  ignorant  of  the  name  of  Frangois  Blondel,  the 
architect,  to  whom  they  owe  this  monument;  there,  too,  is 
that  admirable  fountain,'  so  little  taken  notice  of,  which  is 

»  St.  Innocent's  fountain.  The  architecture  is  by  Lescot,  abb4  of  Clu- 
gny,  and  the  sculpture  by  Jean  Goujon. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF  TASTE.  397 

adorned  with  the  precious  sculptures  of  Jean  Goujon,  but 
which  is  in  every  respect  inferior  to  the  admirable  fountain  of 
Bouchardon,  at  the  same  time  that  it  seems  to  upbraid  the 
rude  taste  of  all  the  others ;  the  porch  of  St.  Gervais,  a  master- 
piece of  architecture,  to  which  a  church,  a  square,  and  ad- 
mirers, are  wanting,  and  which  should  immortalize  the  name 
of  Desbrosses,  still  more  than  the  palace  of  Luxembourg, 
which  likewise  was  built  by  him.  All  these  monuments, 
neglected  by  the  vulgar,  ever  barbarous,  and  by  people  of  the 
world  ever  inattentive,  often  attract  the  observation  of  the 
deity.  The  library  of  this  enchanted  palace  was  next  shown 
us ;  it  was  not  very  large.  It  will  be  readily  beheved  that  we 
did  not  find  in  it — 

A  heap  of  manuscripts  most  rare, 
Which  greedy  book-worms  seldom  spare ; 
Nor  on  those  shelves  are  ever  found 
Those  writings  which  so  much  abound ; 
Writings  by  no  man  ever  read. 
The  lumber  of  an  author's  head. 
In  person,  here,  the  tuneful  Nine, 
Their  proper  place  to  books  assign  ; 
To  books  where  genius  may  be  traced. 
Combined  with  elegance  of  taste. 

Most  of  the  books  there,  have  passed  through  the  hands  of 
the  Muses,  and  been  by  them  corrected.  The  work  of  Rabelais 
is  to  be  seen  there,  reduced  to  less  than  half  a  quarter  of  its 
bulk. 

Marot,  whose  only  merit  is  his  style,  and  who,  in  the  same 
taste,  sings  the  Psalms  of  David,  and  the  Wonders  of  Alix,  has 
but  eight  or  ten  leaves  left.  The  pages  of  Voiture  and  Sarra- 
sin,  together,  do  not  exceed  sixty  in  number. 

The  whole  genius  of  Bayle,  is  to  be  found  in  a  single  volume, 
by  his  own  acknowledgment ;  for  that  judicious  philosopher, 
that  enlightened  judge  of  authors  and  sects,  often  declared,  that 


398  THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE. 

he  would  never  have  written  more  than  one  vohimc  in  folio,  if 
he  had  not  been  employed  by  booksellers.' 

We  were,  at  last,  admitted  into  the  innermost  part  of  the 
sanctuary.  There  the  mysteries  of  the  god  were  unveiled; 
there  I  saw  what  may  serve  as  an  example  to  posterity :  a 
small  number  of  truly  great  men  were  employed  in  correcting 
those  faulty  passages  of  their  excellent  works,  which  would 
have  been  beauties  in  those  of  inferior  genius. 

The  amiable  author  of  Telcmachus  was  retrenching  the 
repetitions  and  useless  details  of  his  moral  romance,  and  blot- 
ting out  the  title  of  epic  poem,  which  the  indiscreet  zeal  of 
some  of  his  admirers  had  given  it ;  for  he  frankly  owns,  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  poem  in  prose. 

The  eloquent  Bossuet  was  ready  to  strike  out  some  familiar 
expressions,  Avhich  had  escaped  his  vast,  impetuous,  and  free 
genius,  and  which  in  some  measure  disgrace  the  sublimity  of 
his  Funeral  Orations  ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  he,  by 
no  means,  vouches  for  the  truth  of  all  he  has  said  concerning 
the  pretended  wisdom  of  the  ancient  Egyptians. 

Corneille  the  great,  and  the  sublime, 
AVho  pleased  not  by  the  charms  of  rhyme  ; 
But  waked  the  soul  by  strokes  of  art. 
Which  fill'd  with  wonder  every  heart ; 
Who  with  a  pencil  ever  true 
Both  Cinna  and  Augustus  drew ; 
Cornelia,  Pompey,  brave  and  great, 
Who  fell  by  too  severe  a  fate  ; 
Here  to  the  flames,  Pulcheria  threw, 
Agesilaus,  Surena  too. 
And  sacrificed  with  no  remorse 
The  fruits  of  genius  without  force  : 
Productions  of  declining  age, 

1  This  Bayle  himself  affirmed,  in  a  letter  which  he  wrote  to  Mons.  des 
Maizeaux. 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  TASTE.  399 

And  quite  unworthy  of  tlie  stage. 
Racine  more  artful  and  refined, 
Who  touch'd  with  gentle  woe  the  mind, 
Who  still  profound  attention  draws, 
And  never  breaks  dramatic  laws ; 
His  lovers'  parts,  with  critic  eye, 
Remarks,  but  in  them  can't  descry 
Those  various  touches,  which  in  nature 
Distinguish  character  like  feature  : 
In  all,  the  same  perfections  meet. 
They're  tender,  gallant,  and  discreet ; 
And  love,  whose  power  o'er  all  prevails, 
Believes  them  courtiers  of  Versailles. 
La  Fontaine !  poet  born  to  please 
By  happy  negligence  and  ease. 
Whose  careless  style,  with  bold  neglect. 
Charms  more  than  if  thou  wert  correct : 
Thy  own  opinion  freely  tell 
Of  works,  which  of  their  kind  excel ; 
And,  let  us  have  thy  judgment  true 
Of  thy  own  tales  and  fables  too. 

La  Fontaine,  who  retained  the  simplicity  of  his  character, 
and  who  in  the  Temple  of  Taste  joined  acuteness  and  penetra- 
tion to  that  happy  instinct,  which  inspired  him  during  his  life, 
suppressed  some  of  his  fables.  He  abridged  almost  all  his 
tales,  and  tore  the  greatest  part  of  a  collection  of  posthumous 
works,  printed  by  those  editors  who  live  by  the  follies  of  the 
dead. 

There  Boileau  reign'd  who  taught  this  age. 
By  reason  roused  to  satire's  rage ; 
Who  framed,  with  care,  poetic  laws. 
And  follow'd  them  with  just  applause, 
Severely,  now,  his  works  reviews ; 


400  THE  TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

One  quibbling  poem  shames  his  Muse  ; 
The  verses  now  he  can't  endure — 
Those  on  the  taking  of  Namur — 
He  blots  them  out  with  hasty  hand, 
And  cries :  "  Your  genius  understand." 

Boileau,  at  the  express  command  of  the  god  of  Taste,  was 
reconciled  to  Quinault,  who  may  be  considered  as  a  poet, 
formed  by  the  Graces,  as  Boileau  was  by  Reason. 

But  Boileau,  satirist  severe. 

Whilst  he  embraced,  could  scarce  forbear 

The  lyric  poet  to  revile ; 

Yet  Quinault  pardon'd  with  a  smile. 

"I'll  never  be  reconciled  to  you,"  said  Boileau,  "  except  you 
acknowledge  that  there  are  many  insipid  lines  in  those  agree- 
able operas."  "That  is  possible,"  answered  Quinault;  "but 
you  must,  at  the  same  time,  acknowledge  that  you  were  never 
capable  of  writing  Ati/s  or  Armida. 

"  Your  poems,  labor'd  and  exact. 
May  general  esteem  attract ; 
My  operas,  composed  with  ease, 
May  surely  be  allow'd  to  please." 

After  saluting  Boileau,  and  tenderly  embracing  Quinault,  I 
saw  the  inimitable  Moliere,  and  I  made  bold  to  accost  him  in 
these  terms : 

"  Terence  the  sage,  and  the  polite. 
Could  well  translate,  but  could  not  write  ; 
His  elegance  is  cold  and  faint, 
He  could  not  Roman  manners  paint. 
You,  the  great  painter  of  our  nation. 
Have  drawn  each  character  and  station  : 


THE   TEMPLE    OF    TASTE.  4:01 

Our  cits  with  maggots  in  their  brain, 

Our  marquisses  as  pert  as  vain, 

Our  formal  gentry  of  the  law, 

All,  by  your  art,  their  likeness  saw ; 

And  you  would  have  reform'd  each  fault, 

If  sense  and  virtue  could  be  taught." 

"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  why  was  I  ever  nnder  a  necessity  of  writing 
for  the  people  ?  Why  was  I  not  always  master  of  my  time  ? 
I  should  have  invented  much  more  happy  intrigues  ;  I  should 
have  seldom  descended  to  low  comedy." 

It  was  thus  these  masters,  in  their  several  arts,  showed  their 
superiority,  by  owning  those  errors  to  which  human  nature  is 
subject,  and  from  which  the  greatest  geniuses  are  not  exempt. 
I  then  found  that  the  god  of  Taste  is  very  hard  to  be  pleased, 
but  that  he  is  never  pleased  by  halves.  I  perceived,  that  the 
works  which  he  criticises  the  most,  are  those  which  he  likes 
best. 

The  god  takes  every  author's  part, 

Provided  pleasing  be  his  art ; 

No  anger  he  in  censuring  shows  ; 

With  transport  his  applause  bestows. 

The  Muse  displays  her  charms  divine, 

And  brings  her  heroes  to  his  shrine ; 

The  power  benign  can  scarce  forbear. 

Seeing  their  faults,  to  drop  a  tear. 

That  wretch  should  be  to  woe  consign'd, 

Who's  not  to  tenderness  inclined ; 

By  such  our  nature  is  disgraced ; 

He  flies  the  sacred  shrine  of  Taste. 

When  my  guides  were  going  to  retire,  the  god  addressed 
them  in  terms  to  this  eftect,  for  I  am  not  permitted  to  use  his 
own  words — 

"  Farewell,  my  much-loved  fiiends,  farewell, 
Since  you  in  poetry  excel ; 


402  THE   TEMPLE   OF  TASTE. 

Let  not,  in  Paris,  dire  disgrace ! 

My  rival  e'er  possess  my  place. 

False  Taste,  I  know,  from  your  keen  eyes 

In  terror  and  confusion  flies  ; 

If  ever  you  should  meet  that  foe. 

You'll  him  by  this  description  know  : 

His  tawdry  dress  is  void  of  grace, 

His  air's  affected  ;  o'er  his  face 

He  forces  oft  a  languid  smile. 

And  talks  in  the  true  coxcomb's  style ; 

He  takes  my  name,  assumes  my  shape, 

Of  genuine  taste  the  awkward  ape ; 

For  he's  the  son  of  Art  at  most. 

Whilst  Nature  as  my  sire  I  boast.'* 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


Sacred  to  peace,  within  a  wood's  recess, 
A  blest  retreat,  where  courtiers  never  press, 
A  temple  stands,  where  art  did  never  try 
With  pompous  wonders  to  enchant  the  eye ; 
Where  are  no  dazzling  ornaments,  nor  vain, 
But  truth,  simplicity,  and  nature  reign. 

The  virtuous  Gauls  raised,  erst,  the  noble  shrine, 
And  sacred  vow'd  to  Friendship's  power  divine. 
Mistaken  mortals,  who  believed  their  race 
Would  never  cease  to  crowd  to  such  a  place  ! 
Orestes'  name  and  Pylades'  appear. 
Carved  on  the  front — names  still  to  Friendship  dear- 
The  bold  medallion  of  good  Pirithous, 
Those  of  Achates  wise  and  mild  Nisus. 
All  these  are  heroes,  and  as  friends  renown'd, 
Their  names  are  great,  but  still  in  fable  found. 

The  learned  sisters  chant  but  in  this  hall, 
For  they  are  hiss'd  upon  Olympus  tall. 
Nor  Mars  doth  here  appear  with  Venus  by, 
For  Discord  with  them  e'er  keeps  company. 
Friendship  with  few  immortals  finds  a  place ; 
Most  of  the  gods  avoid  her  chaste  embrace. 
Still  in  her  presence  faithful  Truth  attends, 


404  THE  TEMPLE   OF   FRIENDSHIP. 

And  to  the  goddess  needful  succor  lends  : 
Truth's  ever  ready  to  enlighten  all, 
But  few  on  Truth  for  kind  assistance  call. 
In  vain  she  waits  for  votaries  at  her  shrine, 
None  come,  though  all,  at  wanting  her,  repine ; 
Her  hand  holds  forth  the  register  exact, 
Of  every  gen'rous,  every  friendly  act ; 
Favors  in  which  esteem  with  friendship  vied, 
Received  not  meanly,  not  conferr'd  with  pride : 
Such  favors  as  those  who  confer,  forget, 
And  who  receive,  declare  without  regret. 
This  history  of  the  virtues  of  mankind, 
Within  a  narrow  compass  is  confined ; 
In  Gothic  characters  it  is  all  traced 
Upon  two  sheets,  by  time  almost  defaced. 

By  what  strange  phrenzy  is  mankind  possessed  ? 
Friendship  is  banish'd  now  from  every  breast ; 
Yet  all  usurp  of  Friend  the  sacred  name, 
And  vilest  hypocrites  bring  in  their  claim. 
All,  that  they're  faithful  to  her  laws,  declare, 
And  e'en  her  enemies  in  her  name  swear. 
In  regions  subject  to  the  Pope's  command. 
Thus  we  see  beads  oft  in  an  atheist's  hand. 

'Tis  said  the  goddess,  each  pretended  friend, 
Once  in  her  presence  summon'd  to  attend  ; 
She  fix'd  the  day  on  which  they  should  be  there, 
A  prize  proposing  for  each  faithful  pair. 
Who  with  a  tenderness  like  hers  replete. 
Amongst  true  friends  might  justly  claim  a  seat; 

Then  quickly  ran,  allured  by  such  a  prize, 
The  French,  who  novelty  still  idolize. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   FKIENDSHIP.  405 

A  multitude  before  the  temple  came ; 
And  first  two  courtly  friends  preferr'd  their  claim ; 
By  interest  join'd,  they  walk'd  still  hand  in  hand, 
And  of  their  union  friendship  seem'd  the  band. 
Post-haste  a  courier  came  and  made  report, 
That  there  was  then  a  vacancy  at  court. 
Away  each  friend  polite  that  moment  flies, 
Forsakes  at  once  the  temple  and  the  prize ; 
Thus  in  a  moment  friends  are  turn'd  to  foes. 
Each  swears  his  rival  warmly  to  oppose. 

Four  devotees  next  issue  from  the  throng. 
Poring  on  prayer-books  as  they  pass  along ; 
Their  charity  to  mankind  overflows. 
And  with  religious  zeal  their  bosom  glows. 
A  pamper'd  prelate  one,  with  fat  o'ergrown, 
Tripple-chin'd,  much  to  apoplexy  prone  ; 
The  swine  quite  gorged  with  tythes,  and  overfed, 
At  length,  by  indigestion's  force,  falls  dead. 
Quick  the  confessor  clears  the  sinner's  score. 
His  form's  annealed,  his  body  sprinkled  o'er. 
And  spruced  up  by  the  curate  of  the  place. 
To  go  his  heavenly  journey  with  good  grace. 
His  three  friends  o'er  him  merrily  say  pray'rs, 
His  benefice  alone  excites  their  cares  : 
Devoutly  rivals  grown,  each  still  pretends 
Attachment  most  sincere  to  both  his  friends ; 
Yet  all  in  making  interest  at  the  court. 
Their  brothers  downright  Jansenists  report. 

Two  youths  of  fashion  next  came  arm  in  arm. 
Whose  eyes  and  hearts  their  mistress'  letters  charm. 
These  as  they  pass'd  along  they  read  aloud. 
And  both  display'd  their  persons  to  the  crowd ; 


406  THE  TEMPLE   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

Some  favorite  airs  they  sing,  whilst  they  advance 
Up  to  the  altar,  just  as  to  a  dance. 
They  fight  about  some  trifle,  one  is  slain. 
And  Friendship's  altar  hence  receives  a  stain. 
The  least  mad  of  the  two,  with  conquest  crown'd, 
Left  his  dear  friend  expiring  on  the  ground. 

Next  Lisis,  with  lier  much-loved  Chloe  came  ; 
From  infancy  their  pleasures  were  the  same  ; 
Alike  their  humor,  and  alike  their  age  ; 
Those  trifles  which  the  female  mind  engage, 
Lisis  was  prone  to  Chloe  to  impart ; 
They  spoke  the  overflowings  of  the  heart. 
At  last  one  lover  touch'd  both  female  friends, 
And,  strange  to  tell !  here  all  their  Friendship  ends. 
Lisis  and  Chloe  Friendship's  shrine  forsake, 
And  the  high  road  to  Hatred's  temple  take. 

The  beauteous  Zara  shone  forth  in  her  turn. 
With  eyes  that  languish,  whilst  our  hearts  they  burn, 
"  What  languor,"  said  she,  "  reigns  in  this  abode ! 
By  that  sad  goddess,  say  what  joy's  bestow'd  ? 
Here  dismal  Melancholy  dwells  alone. 
For  love's  soft  joys  are  ever  here  unknown." 
Leaving  the  place,  crowds  follow'd  her  behind. 
And,  struck  with  envy,  twenty  beauties  pined. 

Where  next  my  Zara  went,  is  known  to  none. 
And  Friendship's  glorious  prize  could  not  be  won  ; 
The  goddess  everywhere  so  much  admired, 
So  little  known,  and  yet  by  all  desired  ; 
Alas !  upon  her  sacred  altar  froze ; 
Hence,  hapless  mortals,  hence  derive  your  woes. 


THE   TEMPLE   OF   FRIENDSHIP.  d07 


ENVOI. 

My  friend !  so  good,  so  often  tried, 
This  heart  to  thine  was  not  yet  tied, 
When  I  so  confidently  said 
That  none  to  Friendship  homage  paid. 
Two  hearts  before  her  now  confess 
Her  power  omnipotent  to  bless. 
Alas !  and  can  true  love,  at  most,. 
Of  any  greater  conquest  boast  ? 


\ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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